


Ascetic (n): The Practice of Self Denial

by Blackforestfire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Blackrom Dirk/John, Dirk has anxiety, Dirk is allergic to people being kind to him, Dom!John, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Sex for therapy, Slight age difference but they're both of age, Sub!Dirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackforestfire/pseuds/Blackforestfire
Summary: Your name is Dirk Strider and you deal with your problems in the worst way possible. The worst way possible has blue eyes, dark hair, and never locks his damn window. Anybody could climb in. Anybody, like you for instance.Luckily he was waiting for you.He always is.





	1. Chapter 1

The most obvious sign of your building demise is your lack of sleep. It starts with fits of restlessness, broken by a few blissful hours of sleep before you’re pulled back into the waking world. It’s nothing new, and you lay awake in your bed and try and count your breaths until you lose track.

You can’t get up and wander around, Dave is a light sleeper and will wake up if he hears your door open.

You briefly consider going online, talking to Roxy or even Hal, but you dismiss the idea just as quickly. It’ll pass, after a couple more days at least, so for now you make yourself comfortable and resume your counting.

When you finally get up, it’s around seven in the morning and Dave is already moving about the apartment.

“You look like shit, bro,” he mumbles when you walk out of your room, and you’re inclined to agree. That was your third night of terrible sleep, and it’s only getting worse.

“Age steals everything. Just wait, man, you’ll lose your charm and youthful beauty in the end.”

Dave snorts at your melodrama and resumes eating his breakfast, idly flipping through his phone as he does.

You help yourself to some of his toast and then retreat back into your room to get your hair in order and shower. It’s a soothing, mind numbing task, and you feel better when you finish. The heaviness in your mind has subsided for the time being, and you stare at yourself for a minute and pretend it’s nothing.

“I’m going to work,” Dave shouts, breaking your concentration, and you roll your eyes in the mirror.

“Fetching coffee for washed out actors isn’t work, bro,” you call back.

“It is in the eye of my college, jerk. I’m getting credits for sitting on my ass! It’s just like the real movie bizz, Dirk. I sit around, do none of the work, and get all the credits. Credits rolling with nothing but my name, misspelled in increasingly hilarious ways. Got so much credit I could get a damn loan,” Dave’s rambling slowly gets more distant as he lets himself out, finally shut off by the front door being closed.

You decide to get a little work done yourself, and set yourself up by your workbench to tinker away at a commission.

That’s when the second, slightly less obvious sign starts to act up. You catch yourself staring out the window, fingers twiddling uselessly with wire as some sensation subtly tugs at the back of your mind. It’s easy enough to ignore, and you blame your lack of sleep rather than think too deeply on the matter.

You work in fits and starts, getting little done by the time the late afternoon rolls around. Your fingers are twitchy, and you drum them on the desk as you look over what you did manage to complete. The heaviness is back and your body feels achy and sore, despite how little you’ve moved today.

By this point you can’t claim ignorance to how you’re feeling, but that’s not going to stop you from trying. You always do this, hold out until it gets too intense, too uncomfortable to ignore any longer. It’s probably not healthy, but you also don’t think the end result is particularly healthy either.

Your craving for closeness will always be your downfall.

When Dave comes home you offer up quality bro time, and the two of you spend a couple hours glitching games and speed running Super Mario. Dave orders Chinese food and bitches about his day while you try and steal his spring roll.

“Anyway I think I’m going out tonight,” Dave adds, stabbing at you with a chopstick and foiling your attempts. “Rose and I have a bet going about who can impersonate who better. Tonight is her night and I’m going to document every second of it.”

Your mouth twitches upwards. “And when do you do her the honor of becoming a holy terror in training?”

“Next weekend,” Dave breaks the spring roll in half and hands you a half. “I need to get some stockings.”

“Don’t look at me dude, I’m not giving you mine.”

“Ew, dude, no, I don’t want those, who knows what you’ve been doing in them,” Dave elbows you and you grin.

“I’m sure you can imagine.”

“ _Ew!_ Dude!” Dave repeats louder, shaking his head. “I’ll borrow some from Rose, jeez, stop trying to traumatize me.”

“So, will Jade and John be there?” You keep your voice even, but you don’t think Dave would notice even if you did slip up and let a bit of eagerness into your voice.

“Jade will be, she’s my date for tonight. I have no idea what Egbert is up to now-a-days. Ever since last year he apparently has a life outside of me, which is ridiculous.”

“Absolutely,” you agree, mind elsewhere.

“What about you, man? Any plans?”

You open your mouth to say no, but some traitorous part of you overrides it and you find yourself saying, “Oh, yeah, might get together with Roxy later.”

Now you have an alibi, and your skin is prickling at the thought of it.

“Cool, don’t wait up for me tonight, mom.”

“I’m two years older than you, fuck, I’m not going to parent your ass,” you grumble, though you both know that’s a boldfaced lie. You may be his older brother, but you apparently picked up mother hen instincts sometime around when you let him move in with you for college. Dave gives you endless shit for it, but never makes any real attempt to stop you.

“Well, send me a picture of my new little bro, I’ll start a collection.”

You and Dave chat for a bit longer until the sky starts to darken, and then he changes and heads out with his camera.

You keep your ass firmly on the couch, determined to try and ignore the insistent urging from the back of your mind that now is a perfect opportunity, nobody would miss you for a few hours.

You’re tired, really tired, and your skin feels too hot and tight. You lie down on the couch and stare at the ceiling, willing sleep to come despite the early hour.

Your mind just fogs over, and you flip onto your stomach and bury your head in a cushion. You don’t want to go out. You don’t.

But you’re exhausted and you need something to punch your body back into its normal rhythm. You used to seek it out, going out with Roxy and getting into things you didn’t fully understand. You dabbled a lot when you were younger, and it grosses you out to think about it now. But it worked, and your body won’t let you forget it so easily.

Which is why, when the opportunity presented itself almost a year ago, you had snatched it up with a recklessness that startled the both of you.

Speaking of, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. You know, without a doubt, who it is. The uncomfortable, borderline suffocating feeling is making itself as noticeable as possible, and you groan into your pillow as the ringing finally stops.

Then you get a text, and you sigh.

If you avoid it, which you’ve tried before, you just sink deeper into your insomnia. It’s hell, and your mind rejects the thought of another sleepless night.

You pull out your phone on autopilot. The text reads _Come over ;)_ and you grimace. You hate everything about those two words, how they act like a command only to be undermined by a cheeky wink. It’s infuriatingly vague and not at all what you want. If he wants you over then he should know by now that you despise anything short of a legit order. Because with that, at least you can feign innocence on your part, lack of control and thus lack of choice in the matter. But no, that asshole won’t ever do anything to give you deniability.

And yet your limbs are moving on their own accord, dragging you up and into your room to change. Your lazy apartment clothes get swapped out for a nicer pair of jeans and a simple shirt before you set off grudgingly.

He lives nearby, though it takes twenty some minutes to walk there. You could drive, or take up his many offers to come pick you up, but you remain as stubborn and unyielding as ever in the matter. It somehow offends you that he always offers to come get you, additional smiley faces following every text like he doesn’t know how it gets under your skin.

Your exhaustion clouds your normally rational mind, and with each buzz of your phone you get more and more frustrated. Your mounting aggravation only serves to tire you out even further, and by the time you reach his apartment complex you’re wiped.

You take a couple minutes to collect yourself before ringing him. You yawn despite your best efforts not to, and then hit his buzzer.

“Yes?” An infuriating voice calls out, light and sweet like he doesn’t know exactly who it is.

“Let me in.”

He giggles, and it sounds warped through the speaker. “Gosh, you remind me of a fairy tale. Big bad wolf, I won’t let you in!”

You scowl and grind the heel of your shoe into the step you’re on. “Let me in, or I’ll break in.”

He laughs and the intercom goes dead.

That answers that, and you step back and survey the building with thinly veiled distaste. It’s horribly easy to break in, you’ve done it before, but the extra step is so aggravating when he could just _let you the fuck in_.

You stomp around to the side of the building and climb onto a dumpster, wobbling precariously for a few seconds as your tired body protests the exertion. You reach up and snag the lowest rung of the fire escape latter that runs up the side of the building, pulling it down with a sharp tug.

It falls obediently, screeching in protest and hurting your ears.

You scale the latter up to the fourth floor and then find his window, reaching over and sliding it up. It takes a few extra seconds of finagling until you get your body through it, and then you’re finally standing in his living room.

John is sitting on the couch, looking quite disinterested in the fact someone just came through his window. “Jeez, Dirk, didn’t anyone ever tell you to knock? You’re so rude!”

You slam the window shut and cross your arms, feeling slightly more awake now. “And how many times do I have to remind you that it’s too damn easy to get in here? Lock your fucking window, Egbert, anyone can get in.”

“Ooo, and do what?” John raises his eyebrows, eyes wide at the thought.

“Rob you blind, for starters,” you snap, not in the mood— _never_ in the mood—for his false innocence. “Seriously, a child could get in here.”

“Well which are you? A robber, or a child?”

You feel a pressure building behind your temples as John continues to look sweetly up at you. “Neither, asshole, though I’m beginning to feel inclined towards the first.”

John finally gets up, smile stretched firmly over his face as he puts his hands on his hips. “And what are you here to rob me of?”

Your lips pull back in distaste. “You don’t have a damn thing I want, Egbert.”

“No?” John’s smile becomes a bit patronizing. “Well, sweetpea, evidently I do or you wouldn’t come crawling back every couple weeks.”

You bristle at the nickname, ignoring how your insides squirm and your hands suddenly because clammy. “Nothing I can’t get from anybody else.”

“Reeeeally?” John draws the word out until the pressure in your head turns into a fully formed headache. “Aw, honeydew, there’s nobody in the whole world that can do what I can, and you know it.”

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?” John’s voice turns sing-songy, and he even rocks back and forth on his heels, positively beaming. But it doesn’t come off nearly as childish as he had at first, and a darker intent is clear in his eyes.

“You know what,” you snap, unwilling to say it just yet.

“You need to be more specific, pumpkin.” His grin grows and he settles on his toes, like he’s about to leap forward.

“Fuck you, I’m leaving,” you turn back to the window, an empty threat that you’ve played almost every time you come here. The response is ingrained in the both of you, but you still freeze in place when arms wrap around you too tightly.

“You’re not going anywhere,” John says, and despite the two year difference between you his voice suddenly demands obedience. And fuck, you can’t quite give in yet, but you want to. “After all, Dirk, you broke into my house. That means I get to retaliate any way I deem fit.”

“No, it means you need to lock your damn windows,” you manage to choke out, heart hammering. You’re too tired to escape tonight, you know that, but you’re still not going to cooperate.

So when John presses his lips against the pale column of your throat, you twist away violently in his arms. He jerks you back and spins you around easily, slamming you back into the window you’d come through. Too easy to be seen, to be spotted, and you struggle against him and snarl when he laughs.

“Dirk, you’re so pretty when you fight,” he says brightly, like you’re not doing your damn best to wiggle away.

The compliment stuns you like a blow, and he takes your momentary confusion to kiss you.

Your addled, sleep deprived brain can’t handle the rush of stimulus, and you weakly batter at his shoulders as John pushes his tongue into your mouth.

You unwillingly make a noise in the back of your throat, and curse yourself when you feel him grin against your lips. So you bite, not too hard but enough, and it’s his turn to jerk back.

You take his rare lapse in concentration as an opportunity to duck out from under his arms and dart away into his apartment. He finds you in his bedroom easily, and you taunt him for his posters and sneer at his lava lamp until he gets his hands on you.

Your words are cut off in a yelp as he slaps your ass, and you redouble your efforts to get away until he gets his arms around your waist and croons “my darling, my sweet, where are you going, pumpkin?” and you whine pathetically.

You hate how he abuses those words, coats them in sticky-sweet malice that makes your body thrum with energy. They promise to be your undoing, and god help you it makes your nerves sing.

He wrestles you onto the floor and bites your shoulder, effectively immobilizing you for a second. You groan as he sucks and kisses his way back to your neck, finishing what he started in the living room. You grip the back of his shirt and swear breathlessly, light headed from the sudden onslaught.

He tugs at your own shirt then, pushing it up and over your head too quickly to prevent. You don’t think you wanted to prevent it anyway, not when his mouth returns to your body. He kisses your chest and grips your thin hips to keep you still, lavishing you with nips and open mouth kisses all the way down to your belly button before stopping.

You can feel a flush building on your cheeks, and you press back into the rough carpet as if to get away from him.

John doesn’t let you, never lets you, and you’re tugged back in place with ease. His teeth find your hip and you hiss at him when he bites too hard.

“Aw, I’m sorry chickpea,” he rubs the mark and you try to stop the full body shudder that tries to go through you at the sound of another nickname. You’re not very successful, and he catches your eye with a calculating gaze.

“You’re so lovely like this, Dirk. I think it’s because you’re not talking.” John leans over you, caging you in with his larger body. “You ruin everything when you open your mouth, _clementine_.”

You make a horrible little sound in response, nails digging into the carpet and body locking up in paralysis.

“That’s why nobody else can do what I do,” he continues, a smile playing around his lips while he keeps you frozen beneath him. “I can shut your mouth, or fill it up until you choke.”

You exhale hard, unable to look away from his piercing blue eyes. You try and find your voice, and manage to spit out, “Nobody else but me can actually stand this other side of you, though. You need me just as badly.”

John laughs. “See what I mean? You just shouldn’t talk.”

He gets off you and then sits on the bed, smirking down at you.

You feel dazed being left on the floor, but when you sit up he pats his lap and gives you a wide grin.

“I’m not sitting in your lap,” you snap, trying to calm your erratic pulse. But John just continues to sit there and grin at you expectantly, handing you back some semblance of control just when you thought you’d gotten rid of it.

“You’re such a child,” you growl, and he doesn’t deny it.

“Come here, Dirk,” he calls, and you move reluctantly. However, instead of sitting on his lap, you settle between his thighs as an act of defiance. He wants to give you control? Fine.

You push your face between his legs and kiss the hard outline of his cock straining against his shorts. John sucks in a sharp breath as your hands creep up his inner thighs, pushing them apart to give you more room. Deniability be damned, you really want his cock in your mouth.

Your fingers fumble for a second with his belt, and you silently berate yourself until you get it undone. You undo his fly and push his shorts and boxers down enough to free his cock.

“Dirk,” John chides, if a bit breathlessly, “I did not tell you to do that.”

_Too fucking bad_ , you think rebelliously. You grip the base of his cock and run your tongue up it, both of you groaning as you do. John’s hands find your hair and he warns you once more, a nicety he rarely gives you. Naturally, you throw it back in his face when you wrap your lips eagerly around his dick.

He swears and you moan as you let him fill your mouth until the head nudges the back of your throat. Then you get to work, sliding your tongue along him and swallowing so your throat constricts around the tip. You teeter dangerously close to choking, and breathing is almost impossible with him this deep in your mouth, but it’s a head rush for you. You worship his cock with your tongue, licking and sucking on it as your eyes water and your jaw aches.

You think you’re being rather clever, until John tightens his grip on your hair and thrusts forwards.

His cock is shoved deeper down your throat and tears spring into your eyes as you struggle not to choke. He pays no attention to you and fucks your mouth with short, hard movements that leave drool running down your chin. When you finally do choke, eyes wide and panicky, John lets his cock slip from your mouth and gives you a ‘what-did-I-tell-you’ look.

“That wasn’t part of the game, Dirk,” John says pleasantly as you frantically try and remember how to breathe. “Now, because of that, you’ll be punished.”

Your body floods with dread and anticipation, mind running wild with what sort of torture he has in mind. You don’t have any energy left in you to fight as he drags you up onto the bed, spreading you out on the covers and wiping drool from your lips.

John pushes his pants and boxers down the rest of the way and discards them, then does the same for you. Your shoes and socks are pulled off, as well as his shirt, and everything is tossed on the floor, despite your weak protests.  

“Hush, nothing you say will matter anyhow,” John runs his fingers through your hair and smiles.

You’re low on energy, dangerously so, and it makes your heart rate spike at the implications. He’s got you entirely to his mercy, he could do any damn thing he wanted to, and you suddenly feel very claustrophobic.

Whether it shows in your eyes or by the quick, shallow breaths you’re taking, John frowns and leans over you. He kisses your forehead, nose, lips, and then chin with a softness you’re not used to.

“Remember the safeword, Dirk?”

You blink, slightly out of it.

John waits, rubbing your bare thigh and kissing your nose in a too-familiar way that confuses you. “Come on, clementine, don’t go away from me yet.”

That gets to you, and you finally nod.

“I need words!” John says brightly, and your lips tug down with irritation.

“Yes, I remember it,” you grumble, and he looks pleased.

“There you are. Good.” He rubs your thigh one last time before pulling away and moving to a drawer in his nightstand.

You settle for a moment, feeling comfortable enough to sleep. His bed is soft, and smells delicious. Your daydreaming is ruined quickly enough, however, when John returns with a handful of things and a cheeky grin.

He kisses you, hard and possessive, and you let him push his tongue into your mouth without a second thought. John’s hands are moving all over you, touching and teasing everywhere but where you need it the most. He only seems to be encouraged by the impatient noises you make, smirking at you when you jut your hips up.

“Patience, chickpea, I have plans for you,” John promises, his voice far too eager. Then he takes your hands, which had been carving lines down his back, and pins them above your head.

You shiver and tug, only to have him tut at you disapprovingly. He binds your hands with a soft cloth from the pile of things he dumped beside you, and you feel horribly exposed when he sits back to survey his handiwork.

“Remember, Dirk,” he reprimands as you open your mouth to comment, “if you talk you’ll ruin it.” His eyes twinkle, and you know better than to disobey at this point.

“Good,” he nods when you close your mouth, and a flush of heat goes through you at the praise.

He picks up a glass wand and a vibrator and surveys them both critically, ignoring how you begin to squirm at the sight of them. The wand is heavy, you know from experience, and its bulged glass tip presses just a hair away from your prostate. The vibrator, on the other hand, isn’t thick enough for your liking but definitely has its perks.

You watch as John picks the wand, setting the vibrator down for the time being, and turns to you with a smile. “Like it?” He waves it under your nose.

“I love how it looks in you,” he continues when you don’t say anything. He taps the top of it, a pink glass star, and smiles mischievously.

You break eye contact at the thought of how it must look, equal parts shame and exhilaration fighting inside you.

John sets it down and wraps a warm hand around your cock, not moving it as your eyes snap back to him immediately. “Turn around now, pumpkin.”

You briefly consider not doing that and making him force you, but you’ve already earned one punishment and you’re not keen on amassing more. Slowly, and with obvious reluctance so you don’t appear too eager, you roll on your stomach.

“Well aren’t you behaving now, that’s so nice,” John comments, gripping your hips and pulling you up onto your knees. Your face ends up pressed into the pillows, so you raise up onto your forearms for balance.

John’s hands smooth over your ass and you bite your lower lip, still not making a sound as his fingers trail down over your balls and up your cock, before retreating back up to your ass. He does this four more times before you start to shake, cock hard and dripping for any semblance of relief.

John leans in and you flinch when you feel his lips on your entrance at first, then settle back almost immediately. He does it again, and this time you’re ready and don’t move. Satisfied, John kisses your entrance again, and you have just enough awareness left to be relieved you took a shower this morning despite your weariness. He licks you, slow and firm, and you shudder at the feeling.

The first time he did this, you jerked away and argued with him for almost an hour before he grabbed you by the hips and showed you how good it could feel.

Now you willingly spread your legs a little farther, trembling as he works his tongue against you, not dipping in quite yet. You don’t think you would let anybody else do this to you, you hate the vulnerability that comes with it. But John works you over with a practiced ease, hands running along your thighs and brushing your cock as his tongue coaxes you to relax.

Once you’re making tiny, needy noises into your arms he begins to point his tongue and press, slipping it into your now slick entrance with ease. You shudder and push back into it, letting him tongue fuck you until you’re dripping. Only then does he push a finger in alongside his tongue, working you until you’re pleading for more.

“What was that?” John asks playfully, pulling his mouth away as he pushes his finger deeper into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, battling with keeping quiet like he asked and begging him for more. You moan as he runs his finger over your prostate, abandoning your silence and hoping fervently he won’t punish you for it. “Please, more…”

Surprisingly, John actually complies, and you groan as another finger is added. “Is that what you want, sweetpea?”

You make a strained noise, gripping his pillow and hunching your shoulders as if to ward off the pet name.

He leans over you, kissing the tension between your shoulders as he works his fingers in and out of you at a tortuously slow pace. “I think you’re ready for the wand, what do you think?”

It doesn’t matter what you think, and you know you’ll only get what John is willing to give you. But oh you desperately want it in you, and you choke out another strained ‘ _please_ ’, which seems to satisfy him.

John pulls his fingers out of you and picks up the wand. He coats it liberally with lube from the small pile by your knee, and then presses the flared tip to your entrance.

It’s cold, from the lube and just due to the nature of glass. You recoil slightly, and receive a smack on the ass for it. It stings brilliantly, and you groan as he presses the glass back against you.

John slowly pushes it in, and your arms give out completely as the cold glass is pressed inside of you. You can feel it, every damn inch of it slipping deeper into you. You moan helplessly into his pillow, shaking as you feel the hilt finally rest against your ass.

“Fuck, Dirk,” John breathes, sounding awed. “You look so beautiful like this. How does it feel, clementine? Does it feel good in you?”

If the glass hadn’t done you in, that definitely did. Your entire body shakes and you keen loudly, too far gone to be embarrassed. The weight of the wand inside you and of John’s praise as he strokes your cock is far too much for you in this state, and you try to warn him of it.

All John does is croon at you, stroking you and toying with the wand, moving it gently inside of you as your moans climb higher and higher in pitch.

The tension in you finally shatters, and your body is flooded with intense pleasure as you come into John’s hand. You clench around the wand and cry out as it sends another pulse through you, prolonging your orgasm to the brink of painful before he finally slips it out of you.

You collapse instantly, and dimly feel John tug the bindings off your wrists.

“Oh no you don’t,” John says, his voice teasing. “You still haven’t gotten your punishment.”

You make a weak sound of protest, but he ignores you and gently turns you over until you’re blinking up at him languidly.

“Aren’t you a sight,” John says softly, and you whine.

He kisses you, threads his fingers through your now completely un-styled hair, murmurs to you until you’re mumbling desperately for him to stop.

Instead, John starts touching you again, thumbing your nipples, kissing your neck, making your arch and gasp at the oversensitivity. You’re so far gone at this point from his previous treatment and your sleepless nights that you almost don’t notice him slicking up, but when you feel him press against you that brings your awareness back.

“Wait,” you slur, pushing at his chest with the all the strength of a newborn, “don’t, it’s too much…”

“Your punishment, chickpea,” John practically purrs, and your protesting is cut off by a long, drawn out cry as he slides into you. It doesn’t hurt, you’re nice and stretched by this point, but it burns with an intensity that makes you pant and claw at his shoulders.

John moans, his voice low in your ear. “Oh fuck, Dirk, you feel incredible.”

You clutch at him mindlessly as he rocks into you, pushing you back down into that faraway place. You feel wrung out, used, and it delights you as the discomfort shifts into a hyper sensitive pleasure. You moan encouragement to him, begging him not to stop until he’s through with you.

John fucks you until you’re hard again, bending your legs up and practically folding you in half as he thrusts into you.

You’re being driven into the bed, and you’re crying out loudly with the brutal pace. He bites your neck, kisses you, holds you down and fucks you until you’re sobbing and out of your mind.

“Oh, oh, fuck, yes,” John groans to your increasingly wild cries. “You’re perfect, so good, yeah come on, come on, clementine, be good for me, so good—”

You open your mouth in a soundless scream as you bend off the bed and come again, this one short and harsh and almost too much to comprehend.

John fucks you through it, and then kisses you hard as he moans your name and finishes inside you. The feeling of him filling you makes your body shake, and you think you will never be able to piece your mind back together.

When he finally pulls out of you, you’re too spent to do much else except let your legs drop. John is talking to you, rubbing your thighs and saying something, but you have no idea what it is. You feel him leave and then come back, something soft and cold touching you in a spot way too tender.

You make a strangled, hiccupping noise, and he shushes you gently as he cleans you up. Finally it’s gone, and whatever else he does is lost to you because you’re asleep at last.

You sleep for hours, woken only once by John shifting beside you. When you eventually do wake up for real, it’s because the sun is hitting you in the face. Blearily, you roll over and then groan as your body loudly alerts you to how battered you are.

“Morning, honeydew!”

You peer through your lashes at John, already up and looking like last night never happened. He’s beaming down at you with a look of mock concern on his face.

“Sleep alright, princess?”

You grumble a half-formed swear and stuff you face back in his pillow. Truth is, you feel incredible. You must’ve slept for a good ten hours, and despite the stiffness setting in you feel wrung out and pleasantly relaxed.

Not that you would ever let that asshole know.

“You snore,” is what you say instead.

John laughs and climbs into bed with you, disrupting the nest of sheets you’ve collected. He ignores your complaints, preferring to poke and prod you with both barbed comments and his fingers until you get up.

It takes a solid thirty minutes for you to find your clothes, and John comments loudly on the collection of bruises you have on your neck, shoulders, and hips.

It’s only when you’re dressed and about to go that he gets out of bed and follows you into the living room.

“So, Dave told me he’s going out again next weekend, want me to get out of it?” John smiles cheekily at you.

You scowl and tug your shoes on. “No, go hang out with your friends for once.”

John arches an eyebrow. “Are we not friends, then?”

“Definitely not.”

“How about friends with benefits?”

You flush and glare at him, only to be met with the usual sweet smile. “Dave will wonder why you’re not spending time with him, you know.”

It wasn’t meant to be a low blow, but John frowns and scuffs his feet. “I still hang out with him.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence passes, and you struggle for a moment before walking up and giving him a little kiss. “Look, go hang out with him next weekend. I’ll be free most of the week after anyway.”

John gives you a look. “You could come out with us, you know.”

You pull a face. “Hell no, being seen with you in public is career suicide.”

“Career? What career?” John mocks, and you roll your eyes, shoving past him to get to the front door.

“Bye, Egbert.”

“Bye, Dirk! See you soon,” John calls after you.

“Like hell,” you retort, but you both know you will. As you leave you make a note to yourself to get Dave to buy John some locks for his windows. He’ll take them if they come from Dave, and it should deter most people who aren’t dead-set on getting inside for questionable therapy.

When you get home, Dave is already back and sleeping off last night in his room. You head to your room, thinking of a shower, and doing your best not to plan your next visit to John.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day you complete your commission, clean your apartment, and even make some semblance of dinner by the time Dave comes back from work.

He takes one look at the pizza you pull from the oven and grins. “Good night?”

You set it on the stove and pull off your oven mitts, shrugging noncommittedly. “It was fine. How was your night out with Rose? Did she stun and amaze you with her witchy-powers? Roxy told me she looked adorable.”

“Adorable? Try terrifying,” Dave grumbles, reaching for the pizza only to be swatted away. “Ow! Hey!”

“It’s hot dude, you’ll burn your dainty little hands,” you say. “And how was she terrifying? She just dressed like a homeless hipster.”

“Excuse you,” Dave says, affronted. “I dress like a cool and casual dude who happens to like thrift stores. You’re just jealous because I don’t blow the bank every time I want a new jacket.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Other people _wore that_ , Dave, it’s gross. They fuckin’, I don’t know, sweat in it and got other nasty bodily fluids on it. I don’t care if it is four dollars but I’m not wearing someone’s spunk-splattered spandex. It’ll light up like a Pollock painting under a black light.”

“It would not!”

“Would too, buddy. You’d glow like a middle school rave, kids screaming and running for entirely different reasons. You could signal Mars with the amount of radiant glow you’re giving off.”

“Fuck off,” Dave snaps, taking another swipe at the pizza. You let him this time, and then smirk when he yelps and yanks his hand away.

“Told you. Just like I’m telling you about your nasty clothes.”

Dave scowls and shuffles off, grumbling under his breath.

“And you avoided the question,” you call after him. “How was it?”

“…she got like, way more people hitting on her than me. She fuckin’ looked like me, Dirk! Exactly like me! But I got shit and she walked out of there with the yellow pages of hot singles in her area.” Dave’s voice hits critical whininess and you grin.

“Guess it’s a personality thing, dude.”

Dave gives you a loud, dramatic groan and then disappears into his room.

You wait until the pizza cools and then grab a few slices, heading towards the living room to kick back and watch some television. You sink into the couch and wince, your muscles protesting as you settle into a position that doesn’t punish your ass more than necessary. Small price to pay for the week of excellent sleep you know you have ahead of you.

Satisfied, you turn on the television and find an old Godzilla movie, turning it up until Dave slinks out of his room to join you.

You watch it until Dave is yawning and slumping dangerously low into the couch. Despite all the shit you give him, you know his job can actually be physically demanding at times.

“Hey, wake up man, the movie’s over,” you nudge him with your foot as you turn off the credits. “No more staying out late cross dressing with those delinquent friends of yours.”

Dave stretches and sighs. “Nah, it’s my turn next weekend. I gotta prove to Rose I can pick up more chicks than her gay ass can.”

“I’m sure she’ll be proud of your conviction,” you state dryly. “Now go to bed.”

“Yes, mom,” Dave mumbles, grinning lazily at you. He does get up though, yawns again, and then vanishes into his room.

You head to bed too, anticipating how nice it’ll feel to just fall asleep without any bullshit for once. You change into a worn, soft tank top and boxers before climbing into bed.

Your pillow is cool, you have the right amount of blankets piled on top of you, and you are so damn ready for this.

Your sore body practically sings in relief as you relax, eyes closing and relishing in the simple act of going to sleep.

You drift to sleep like that, comfortable and content in your aching muscles and still mind.

So, your surprise is practically tangible when you blink awake to find it’s still dark out and your apartment is deathly quiet.

You blink in the darkness, then roll over and check your phone.

“Two forty? Seriously?” You groan and push your head back in your pillow, willing yourself to go back to sleep. Except now it’s too hot, and your body feels twitchy and restless. You kick off your blankets and sheet, flip your pillow, and sprawl on your bed.

Time passes, and you feel no closer to sleep.

This can _not_ be happening.

You sit up, scowling in the darkness as your mind groggily ticks through your memories. You saw him yesterday, for fucks sake! You should have a week of beautiful, anxiety-free rest and relaxation before you start getting antsy. This stupid arrangement has been going on for a year, and last night was as thorough of a session as any of the others.

So why are you awake?

Your first thought is Dave. Did you inadvertently wake up because your sibling spidey-senses were tingling?

Paranoia fills you before you can stop it, and your chest tightens as you stop breathing.

You’re out of bed, through your door, and across the living room before you can remember to restart your breathing. You stop outside of his room, take a strained gasp, and then listen at the door.

You don’t hear anything, but fear still grips your chest so you quietly ease his door open and peak in.

He’s asleep, gangly limbs thrown over every inch of his bed and sheets tangled around his feet. Relief hits you like a battering ram and you sag against the door frame, the bands around your chest loosening. You close his door gently, and return to your own room.

You’re wide awake now, and you know there’s no going to sleep after an adrenalin shot like that. It’s too early to do anything in the apartment, so you grab your laptop and crawl into bed.

You manage to doze off around six, waking up when your documentary about conspiracies ends with its lackluster dramatic music. There are noises coming from the kitchen, so you assume Dave is awake.

After plugging in your computer, you head out to see what sort of mess he’s making.

“Hey man,” Dave greets, shoving two slices of bread into your single-slice toaster. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you say, giving the toaster a wary look. You wonder how many years—months?—of abuse it has left in it. You really don’t want to buy a new toaster.

“What, really?” Dave jams the lever down and turns to look at you, eyebrows raised over his shades. “Damn, those Strilonde parties are losing their touch. I thought Roxy wore you out properly for, like, days. Need a rehab session and all. I fuckin’ called your therapist and everything, dude.”

“Well shit, sorry to put you through the trouble. Guess I’m developing a tolerance,” you say as you rummage through the fridge, fishing out the leftover pizza.

“Guess so,” Dave says, then jumps when the toaster dings. Once slice valiantly forces its way to freedom, while the other remains jammed somewhere in the depths of its metal prison. Dave grabs a fork and advances on the toaster, only remembering to unplug it at your urging.

Once both slices are pried out, Dave eyes you as he spreads a disgusting amount of peanut butter on them.

“It’s cool,” you say to his unasked question. “I’m probably still in post-party recovery. The crash will hit me hard and I’ll go down like an eager-to-please girlfriend on her first crush.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Dave sputters, waving his peanut butter knife at you. “I don’t need that imagery.” He gathers up his toast and heads out, giving you an exasperated look that you don’t think you earned.

Honestly though, you think you’re right. You’re just recovering and tonight you’ll get your sleep of champions.

You get back on your computer sometime in the afternoon and find you have two new commissions waiting for you. This improves your mood significantly, since you already completed your quota for the month, and the thought of extra toaster money makes you smile.

You set to work, drawing out schematics and fiddling with circuit boards. You keep an eye on yourself in the back of your mind for any telltale signs. Come four o’clock, you are smugly pleased by how much you accomplished and how little your mind wandered. No twitchy fingers, no weird daydreams.

Dave comes home a bit later and you ask him about his plans to dress as Rose.

“I don’t know, I figure I’ll go the classic route and wear a skirt, scarf, and some tights. I’ll buy some makeup, and John has some skirts I can borrow. Fuck if I know where he got them from.”

You know, you know damn well, but you shove that thought in a box and lock it down tighter than Fort Knox.

“Maybe get clothes from Rose herself, so they’ll be as close to the original as possible,” you offer up casually, and Dave nods.

“Yeah, Egbert’s hips are too wide for me anyway. I wouldn’t fit in his skirts.”

Normally, that would be true, but John wasn’t the one wearing them. You add that thought to your box and quickly sit on it.

“So that’s this Friday?”

Dave nods and gives you a funny look. “You’re going out again?”

“No, dude, I’m still wrecked from this weekend. My ‘night out’ is going to be ice cream and Titanic. Going to sob as Jack slips into the ice water and joins the mass grave that is the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Bullshit, you’re going to sit there and nitpick on every single flaw in the engineering of that movie.”

“Yep.”

“Sounds fun,” Dave looks a little wistful, and you snort.

“I can save that for Saturday night, if you want. I have plenty of other movies to bitch over while you’re out.”

“It’s cool man, do whatever,” Dave says, and you smirk at his forced nonchalant attitude. Saturday it is, then.

You’re getting pretty tired come nine o’clock, but you stick it out until eleven so that you can ensure a good night’s rest. Weariness weighs you down and you welcome it, heading off to bed and meticulously arranging it until it reaches peak comfort.

You slide into your sheets, curl up on your side, and relax every muscle in your body purposefully.

Sleep comes almost instantly, and you sigh as you drift off.

When you wake up, you think for a second you’re blind. Despite your sleepy blinking, your room remains as dark as ever. Your addled brain takes a minute to catch up, but once it does you plaster your hands over your face and moan.

It’s still night time.  

You roll over and check, just to be sure. Your phone informs you that it is, again, quarter to three in the morning.

No, fuck that, you are owed some god damn shut eye and you will get it.

You snap your eyes closed and lie as still as possible, spitefully ignoring how restless your body is becoming and how much your mind seems to hurt from lack of rest. You’ve only had one good night of sleep, and that barely counted in your books because it was prefaced by a week of sleeplessness.

Sheer stubbornness and force of will gets you a lot of things, but sleep is not one of them. You concede defeat around four and find an old book to read for the next two hours. When light starts to brighten your room, you squint at your window and feel an old ache stir in your body.

It’s way too early for this bullshit, in all manners.

Like clockwork, Dave is up by seven and torturing the toaster when you stumble out.

“Jesus, Dirk, you look like hell,” Dave turns away from what is probably illegal in the terms of the Geneva Convention and gives you a concerned once over.

“Thanks, bro, real vote of confidence,” you say as you pass him to the fridge. You grab some ingredients for a smoothie and set them on the counter. “I’m going to shower, don’t eat my shit.”

Dave gives your ingredients a look more commonly reserved for sewer rats. “Yeah, won’t be a problem.”

A shower will make you feel better, and maybe a nap. That becomes your plan for the day as you step into the hot spray on autopilot.

You feel marginally better when you emerge, and Dave has gone off to work by the time you towel off and get some clothes on.

You find your smoothie already blended and waiting for you, which gives you a warm fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Eat healthy, take a nap, and then exercise. It’s the textbook recipe for getting your shitty life on track.

Except by the time you’ve eaten your breakfast, stared at the ceiling for an hour, and then lifted weights until your arms gave out, you still feel terrible.

Everything aches, which you attribute to your workout and not the fact that John didn’t do his _god damn job._

Irritation flares up in you, and you spend the next ten minutes silently berating John in your mind even though you know it makes no sense. It does make you feel a tiny bit better, and you stew on your vindictive triumph for a bit.

The real test, though, is your work.

And when your hands start to fiddle and your circuit board gains no new connections, you swear and cast it aside with more force than intended.

It cracks, right down the middle, and all your hard earned work vanishes before your eyes.

You don’t cry, but it’s a damn near thing.

Quietly, with methodical focus, you pick it up and place it in the trash. Then you go and lie down in your bed, hoping your dejected state will sink you into a coma.

It doesn’t, and Dave comes home before you’re done sulking.

“Bro?” There’s a tentative knock on your door, and you jerk up, disoriented.

“You’re back?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s five. Were you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Silence, and then Dave calls out that he’s going to order Chinese food.

You’re grateful someone in this apartment can function on a basic level.

Guilt gnaws on your insides that it’s you who should be ordering take out, not Dave. You’re not his parent or anything, but you expect yourself to at least act like any semi-competent adult your age. You’re seriously blowing this.

You get up and join him in the living room, offering up video games as some sort of shitty compensation for your inability to get your act together.

Dave kicks your ass royally at Mario cart, and you feel a lot better when he laughs as you fall off Rainbow road and glitch the game.

“Hey, so, would you mind if I brought someone over tomorrow night for a movie or something?” Dave asks when you’re done trying to figure out exactly how you managed to break the game.

“Dude, you don’t have to ask me. This is your place too.”

“Okay, cool. Heads up then, I’m having a friend over tomorrow.”

“Aw, a play-date? I’ll bake some cookies,” you croon, and then laugh when Dave hurls a pillow at you.

When night finally comes around, you put off going to bed for as long as you can stand it. Dave craps out around midnight, reversing the roles and telling you to get some sleep for once, and then leaving you to your Jurassic Park marathon.

You give up after the third movie, annoyance at terrible acting and stupid people finally driving you to sleep. It’s one in the morning, so by your reckoning you should wake up around four rather than two or three. That cuts down on your stare-at-the-ceiling-and-dwell-on-your-failures time drastically.

You go to bed, and don’t give yourself the luxury of hoping for a sound night of sleep. You drift off into a haze that barely resembles rest.

You guess if you disappoint everyone, it makes sense if you disappoint yourself too. This is what runs through your head when you wake up and stare at your phone, which has the nerve to display ‘ _3:12AM’_ so brazenly.

Time for drastic measures.

You get up and walk as quietly as you can to the bathroom. Once inside, you open the medicine cabinet and take out a bottle of night time cold medicine. It’s not the best thing in the world, and you’re very aware of the terrible example you are potentially setting for Dave, but you drink a cup full of it anyway.

You go back to bed, the sickly sweet taste of grape coating your tongue.

And finally, blissfully, you sleep.

When you wake up it must be around seven, because you can hear Dave moving about. You smile to yourself, pleased with your few stolen hours of sleep. Your head feels funny, and when you turn over something inside you squirms in an alarming way.

Your eyes fly open, and you process for exactly one second before you are on your feet and sprinting to the bathroom.

It turns out, that Newton’s law of equal and opposite reactions works pretty well with cold medicine and empty stomachs. For every hour of sleep is a minute of dry-heaving over the toilet. Your precious few hours of sleep end up costing you whatever was left of your dinner and a lot of stomach acid.

When you’re done you groan and press your sweaty forehead against the toilet bowl, feeling shaky and clammy. Your only saving grace is you don’t think Dave heard you.

You brush your teeth and then shower, but you still don’t trust yourself to look innocent, so you wait until you hear the front door close before exiting the bathroom.

Breakfast is a timid affair, with plain toast and a glass of water. Your stomach greets these offerings with heavy amounts of suspicion, but finally quiets down after a couple hours.

It’s only then do you realize you are well and truly fucked.

You could always go back to John, something you’re desperate enough to actually consider now, but a nagging thought stops you.

What if it doesn’t work anymore?

The idea leaves you cold, because as much as you hate that cheeky bastard, he was absolutely right. There is nobody else who can do what he does.

You pick up your phone and toy with it, weighing the pros and cons, before you remember that Dave has a friend coming over tonight. You can’t just vanish and then show up the next day with no explanation. You don’t have an alibi, which means that tonight is out of the question.

You bite your lip, pulse fluttering erratically as you type out a message.

_‘Friday, your place?’_

You send it and wait, nauseous at the notion that this may not work.

John replies quickly.

_‘I thought you told me to hang out with my friends? Are you admitting to being included in that category ;)’_

You don’t have the mental fortitude for his crap right now, and you stab at your phone with more force than necessary.

_‘Yes or no, Egbert.’_

You don’t know what you would do with yourself if he said no.

_‘Admit to being my friend! Then I’ll come. Or rather, you will ;)))))’_

Oh my god, never mind, you hate him. You can absolutely live without him and in fact, you’re going to start right the fuck now.

You’re half way through planning to cut all ties with Egbert and move Dave to a different college, preferably in China, when he sends another text. 

_‘Friday isn’t good for me. How does Saturday sound?’_

Saturday? You’re having bro time with Dave then. Dammit. Sunday is a weird day to do it too, which leaves them until next weekend which won’t fucking cut it, especially when you’re in this state. But John has no idea, does he? He thinks you’re recharged and set.

You’re panicking, you can feel it, and you clutch your phone and try to breathe. The bands in your chest are squeezing, and your hands shake as you text John back.

_‘I can’t do then.’_

You pause, frantically consider the implications, and then send another text.

_‘Please.’_

You wait, hoping against all odds and logic, while your heart does its best to beat its way out of your chest. You count your breathing, close your eyes, try every damn trick in the book to alleviate the suffocating feeling in your chest.

Your phone buzzes, and you flinch. Opening your eyes, you look at his reply.

_‘Okay, see you then.’_

“Thank god, oh fuck, thank god,” you gasp, setting your phone down and gripping your hands as the tremors increase. Only three more days of this bullshit, including today, and then you’ll be okay. John will get you and he’ll beat you back into shape and you’ll be okay.

You forbid yourself from considering that it may not work.

That is all that gets you through today, as each agonizing minute slides past you think about Friday and how close you are to getting to rest. You plan, neurotically, to take your mind off the time. If you don’t have the energy to walk there, you’ll take a cab. You barely made it there last time, which was normal for you, but this time is very different. You’re running on nothing, and you’re not so stupid and prideful to think you can make it there.

You’ll take a cab, and you’ll press on his damn buzzer and insult all his favorite movies in alphabetical order until he lets you in. The rest is out of your hands, and it sends a shiver down your spine to think about.

You sit on the couch and plot this out, researching cab companies and crafting insults tailored with loving care to each of Egbert’s shitty movies. You’re so absorbed in this task you don’t notice the door opening behind you, or that it’s five o’clock, or even remember that Dave is bringing a friend home until—

“Hey, bro, we’re home,” Dave calls.

“Hi, Dirk!”

You turn in your seat so damn fast you pull something in your neck. Wincing, thoughts scattering like rabbits, you find yourself staring at John Egbert in your apartment.

“Jeez, bro,” Dave says from the kitchen, “did you forget already? I’m having a friend over for movies.”

John gives you his biggest, friendliest smile, and your blood runs cold.

Oh shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk, please get your life together
> 
> Anyway this story is running away with me so please enjoy! Comments mean the world to me :)


	3. Chapter 3

You sit there, stunned, your fight or flight reflexes warring against each other as Dave returns armed with popcorn.

John has taken up residence on the couch with you, showing you each movie he brought like he is introducing his children to you.

“And this,” John practically croons, “is Failure to Launch. Oh, my sweet, sweet baby, this was the first movie I saw in theaters with my dad.”

Dave gives you a look, mistaking your horrified expression as an acceptable reaction to the movie in front of him. Which, granted, it is. “I know, dude, but it’s John’s turn to pick the movies. If you want to save yourself, now is the chance. Run, before it’s too late.”

“Daaaaave,” John whines, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Don’t be so mean! I brought some movies I knew you’d like too!”

He holds up Fast and Furious 3, like that’s some sort of peace offering and not an affront to nature and God.

Dave makes a scathing noise in the back of his throat.

John turns his bright, searing blue eyes to you, smile widening just a fraction of an inch. “We should let Dirk pick the first movie!”

Dave gives you a ‘last chance to flee’ look, but you don’t think your body is listening to you anymore.

With considerable effort, you unlock your muscles and cast a quick glance over the movies John brought. “I vote we watch the blank television screen for two hours and call it a night.”

“Ghost Busters it is!” John reaches for the movie and Dave practically shrieks, batting his hand away and quickly selecting a less offensive film.

They squabble for a bit before John relents, and as Dave sets up the movie you find yourself locked in a staring contest with him.

“What are you doing,” you whisper, trying to intimidate him through your stare to spill whatever evil plot he concocted.

“Watching a movie!” John whispers back, beaming.

“No, you fucker, _what are_ _you_ _doing_?”

But John doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Dave is plopping down next to him and the movie is starting. You scrunch yourself into the far corner of the couch to avoid John’s thigh pressing against your leg. Blissfully, John doesn’t follow you, preferring to hijack the bowl of popcorn from Dave.

The first movie passes uneventfully, and while your nerves are on the fritz the entire time you begin to piece together that duh, he’s here for Dave, not you.

It stings a little, and you silently berate yourself for being a self-centered brat. After that shocking revelation on your part, your anxiety quiets down, and by the third movie you’ve unclenched your jaw and actually participate in shit talking the movie with Dave.

John, for the most part, bickers with the two of you for constantly interrupting the movie. You do catch him sizing you up a couple times, but you ignore it.

It’s only when he threatens to restart Conair that you and Dave shut up, though you give each other little smirks over his head.

When the credits roll, John reaches for another movie and Dave groans.

“Dude, no, I surrender. It’s like midnight and I have work tomorrow.”

“But Dave!” John says, sounding scandalized. “You said movie night! That means _all_ the movies!”

Dave makes a pathetic noise and shakes his head. “I can’t do it, go on without me. Bro, please make sure you delete my internet history.”

“I got you man,” you say solemnly, and John looks between the two of you in disbelief.

“Seriously? You’re quitting? There’s one movie left!” John actually looks pretty put-out about it, and you can see Dave starting to cave.

“Let Dave go to sleep,” you interject, and John turns to you with a look that instantly means trouble.

Your anxiety snaps into action and you swallow against the sudden pressure all around you.

“If Dave goes to bed, will you stay up and watch it with me?” John waves the movie at you and gives you his best puppy-eyes, which he knows you loath.

Except…Dave is also looking at you. And those puppy-eyes you are way too susceptible to, even through shades. Fuck.

“Fine, fuck, I’ll watch your damn movie with you. But then I’m throwing you out, got it?”

“Got it!” John crows, looking far too pleased.

Dave looks relieved. “Great, awesome, thank you, okay listen I’m going to bed. John, don’t listen to Dirk, you can sleep on the couch if it gets too late. But don’t bug my bro, okay?”

“Me? Bug someone?” John smiles, and you’re beyond pleased to see Dave lift up his shades so John can see him roll his eyes. Good to know your little bro isn’t under Egbert’s wonder boy charms.

Dave wishes you both good night and then high tails it out of there before either of you can change your mind.

And now you’re stuck with John.

“Jeeeeez, Dirk, relax,” he chastises, smirking at you when you curl instinctively away from him. “You look like shit, by the way!”

“Fuck you, I do not,” you snap, keeping your voice down so Dave doesn’t hear.

“Oh, yeah, you totally do,” John says seriously, nodding to himself. “You somehow look worse than when you showed up at my door—”

“Shh!” You smack his shoulder. “Jesus, Egbert, will you not? Just put in the stupid movie so you can leave.”

He grins and sets the movie up, letting it play as he settles in right next to you. “You’re so touchy, I thought you’d be happy to see me!”

“When am I ever,” you grunt, all too aware of the proximity between you two.

John looks you over, eyes lingering on the bruises under your eyes and the worn house clothes you didn’t change out of.

You feel self-conscious, but you’re too damn tired to do anything about it. Your eyes focus blearily on the movie, and you honestly hope the sheer stupidity of it will make your mind shut down.

It almost does, and you’re deep in the couch and feeling drowsy when a hand starts to slip up your thigh.

You feel yourself surfacing from what was almost a nap, and you scowl at John hazily. “Do you fuckin’ mind?”

“Not at all, pumpkin,” John says quietly, the sounds of the movie almost drowning him out.

You glare at his hand, which has settled on your upper leg. He doesn’t shift it, but instead rubs his thumb dangerously close to your sensitive inner thigh. You shift a bit, but that does nothing. You still feel the lure of sleep, and your groggy mind sloppily judges the situation as acceptable.

You close your eyes and try to ignore the heat of John’s hand on your leg.

You’re getting there, and you’re almost asleep when he disturbs you again.

This time you’re really irritated, and you crack open your eyes to snarl at him for fucking you over like this. You find his face close to yours, silently looking you over, and heat prickles all over your cheeks.

“What?” You say, meaning to spit the word at him, but it comes out soft and almost petulant.

“You look terrible,” John says again, cupping your face with his free hand and running a thumb over your cheek.

You shy away from his touch like it burns, and a part of you wails that this sort of teasing is hurting you. You need to sleep, you need to rest, you need it to be Friday so Dave will be gone and you can be safe.

This is just reminding you of what you don’t have, and it’s bringing all sorts of unpleasant feelings to a boil.

“John, stop it,” you hiss, this time with some conviction.

He cocks his head at you, and even though the only light in the room is coming from the television, you can see his face crystal clear. “Dirk, sweetpea, what are you doing to yourself? You’re an absolute disaster.”

Fuck, you know that. You’re well aware of your shortcomings as a person. You really don’t need to be reminded, especially when the promise of black-out sex isn’t coming.

“You need to go,” you mumble, pulling away from him. You check your phone and see it’s close to one in the morning, and you feel a sick sense of dread. You’ll only get an hour of sleep now, and you feel so god damn wretched it’s a miracle you don’t break down then and there.

“There you go again, ruining everything with that mouth of yours,” John scolds, sounding honest to god disappointed.

You turn to him, gathering up what little of your senses you have left. “Can you please _fuck off?_ I can’t handle this right now, and I can’t handle you right now. Go home.”

Now John is the one glaring, and you find yourself oddly soothed by the sight.

“Dirk, you’re a fucking mess. You text me like you’re dying and now that I’m here you don’t want me?”

“Friday,” you hiss, but he’s shaking his head.

“No, asshole, this isn’t always going to be on your terms. Now are you going to make this more difficult than it has to be? Because so help me, _clementine_ , I will beat your ass into the ground right here. I don’t care if Dave finds you like that. So, which will it be?”

Your fight or flight senses are back at full blast, and you wildly consider your options. You’ve never done this here, ever, for fear of Dave coming home and finding his best friend fucking his older brother’s brains out. Not to mention Dave is in the damn apartment too, just a thin door separating him from the full might of John’s hungry expression and your panic-stricken face.

You were going to wait until Friday, Friday was what you agreed on. You had three days, three days to think and prepare about the possibility of this not working.

But now John is crawling towards you and those three days are long fucking gone.

It doesn’t help that your body is screaming for this, that you have been conditioned to associate John with relief and mind numbing pleasure.

He pulls you into his lap, situating you easily between his legs, back against his chest, and arms tight around you. Your shades are removed and set on the side table with a clack.

You’re a weak man, and you’re so damn desperate for any possibility of sleep.

So you let your head drop back on his shoulder and close your eyes, going lax in his grip. It’s easier than you would ever admit, and the gratified little noise John makes in your ear is so worth it.

“That’s right, good boy,” John coaxes, and you fling yourself heedlessly into the praise.

John’s hands run up and down your sides, your chest, down your legs and back up your thighs. He spreads your legs slightly, then slips a hand under your shirt and rubs your stomach in an absurdly soothing way.

You can’t fight, John knows this, and you’re infinitely grateful that he doesn’t push you to.

“Isn’t this better?” John breathes against your neck, raising goosebumps all the way down your arms. “Doesn’t this feel so much better, honeydew? Talk to me, quietly now.”

“Yes,” you pant, eyes still shut as you feel his hands creep up to your chest. You twitch when he brushes past your nipples, and then part your lips in a silent gasp as he pinches and rolls them between his fingers.

“That’s it, let me have you,” John purrs, “you look so ragged, pumpkin, let me undo you properly.”

You nod shamelessly, willing to do anything.

“We have to be quiet,” John reminds you, voice growing ever so slightly taunting. “Can you be quiet? Or will you give us away? Will you behave?”

“You could gag me,” you whisper boldly, surprised at yourself.

John growls low in his chest, and the sound makes your cock ache. “Do you have one?”

One? You have tons, so many, all in that bag you keep stashed under your bed. John hasn’t seen it, he’s got more than enough toys for you at his place, but the connotation of showing John your stash has your mind spinning wildly.

You swallow and try and keep it together, you can’t completely slip away. Slowly, you nod, and John sucks in a breath and then strokes your sides firmly.

“Oh, how good, you’re so good, can you get it for me? And bring lube.”

Get it? You don’t want to move. You don’t want to hand John something for you to scream into, it’s as bad as handing over a signed admission that you do it on a daily basis. If this was an average night between you two, you’d fight and bicker and generally be a brat about it.

But it’s not, and you are eager to please.

John doesn’t remark when you obediently get up and leave the room. Your legs are shaking and your breath is coming in short, hard gasps as you fall to your knees on your bedroom floor and fish out the bag.

It takes a couple extra seconds to locate what you want, and your face is flushed as you pick over the small horde you’ve collected over the years.

You select a gag and grab a bottle of lube, kick the bag under your bed, and then hurry out into the living room.

John nods at you and points to the ground between his knees. “Kneel.”

He’s put a pillow down for your knees, and for some reason it makes your throat go tight. It’s the stupidest thing, and you shove the feeling away like it might hurt you.

You kneel, hand over what he asked for, and then wait.

Fingers dance through your hair, too tender for your liking, and you shudder.

“Relax, clementine,” John says quietly, and you do.

Your head settles on the inside of his knee and you feel a rush of contentedness, like you could sit here like this all night. He’s made you do that before, but as punishment for mouthing off. Now you’d give anything to just sit here, doing nothing.

But he doesn’t allow it for long, never lets you have what you want, and soon he’s tugging your head up by a fistful of hair.

You whine, you were being good dammit, but then he fits the gag into your mouth and tightens the belts to the back of your head.

You picked this gag for a reason. It’s like a bit, forcing your mouth open and pressing your tongue down. You can bite on it as hard as you want, and little noise gets out if you’re careful about it.

“Well done,” John says, and your body lights up. “Now sit and watch.”

He unbuckles his jeans and shifts them lower on his hips, keeping his eyes locked on you as he draws out his hard cock.

Your eyes widen and you make a needy noise in the back of your throat. You want him in your mouth, you would give anything to let him face fuck you right now.

“Ah ah, no, watch,” John orders, and you fall quiet.

You hope, though you know it’s a long shot, that if you behave then he’ll fuck your mouth. You know he likes to, and you try to keep yourself from whining as he begins to stroke himself.

John’s head falls back and he sighs, spreading his legs as he works his hand lazily over himself. He pauses after a bit and picks up the lube you brought, squirting some in his hand and then returning to his ministrations.

You work the bit in your mouth and consider giving him a warning, but then you watch him gasp as his eyes fly open and think that was a beautiful reward for your silence.

“Oh, oh fuck, you little minx, warming lube?” John looks at you, impressed. “What else have you been keeping from me?”

You squirm, drunk on his approval and wondering what else you could show him to get that reaction again.

“Do you use this on yourself?” John murmurs, watching you as he plays with his dick.

You nod, feeling naked despite being fully clothed.

“Do you spread this on your fingers and fuck yourself with it?” John asks, voice silky smooth and dark with lust.

You shudder, your cock between your legs throbbing with need, and give him the tiniest nod.

“ _Fuck_ ,” John hisses, curling his hand over the head of his flushed cock. “Do you now, pumpkin? Call me next time you do that, understand? If you don’t I’ll know.”

You make a choked noise and bite on your bit, unable to comprehend the situation he is asking for.

“Come here,” John says, beckoning you with his clean hand.

You lean in, eyes wide and pleading.

John smiles and takes his cock, rubbing the head of it over your open mouth. He allows you to flick the tip of your tongue over him, but that’s all the gag will allow for. The lube tingles as he smears it and his precome over your lips, and you imagine how amazing it would feel inside of you.

A sudden silence startles you, and you realize with dread that the movie that had been muting your noises is over.

Your eyes snap to John’s face and you pray that he doesn’t leave you like this, you think you’d break if he did.

John raises an eyebrow. “Clementine, we have to be very quiet now. Do that, and I’ll reward you.”

His voice is soft, coaxing, and you nod frantically.

_Yes, yes, anything, I’ll do it, I’ll be good,_ you think mindlessly, and are relieved beyond measure when he nods and turns off the television.

Gently, he puts his hands under your arms and guides you up onto his lap, settling you into the same position you began with. His cock is hard against your ass, even through your sweatpants, and you rock back into it.

“Good boy,” John murmurs, lips brushing your ear, and you press into him. His hands slide down your body and pause at your waistband. He plucks at it, as if contemplating teasing you for longer, before relenting and sliding a hand into your underwear.

You arch away from him as his hand closes around your cock, clamping down on your gag until your teeth hurt. Your cock is achingly hard, and he draws it out and whispers soothingly to you as he begins to stroke.

It’s way too much, being touched like this. You belong down on your knees again, not being treated so gently. It goes against everything you know, how this interaction is supposed to go. You try and justify it in your shattered thoughts, that he’s only doing this to not wake Dave, no other reason.

“Hush now,” John says, sounding amused as you twist and writhe in his grasp. His other arm locks you in securely against his chest, restricting your movements and keeping you pinned against his cock.

You grasp the arm that’s formed a bar across your body and cling to it as John works you closer and closer. The warming lube left on his hand makes everything tingle and burn in the best way, and you think you might snap your bit with the force you’re putting on it.

John notices, of course he does, because suddenly his hand is off you and you’re spinning in the loss of sensation.

“Gosh, sweetpea, don’t do that to yourself,” he says, rubbing your jaw and kissing your neck.

You’re dimly aware that you’ve disappointed him, that you did something wrong, and you can’t stop the pitiful sob that wracks through your chest.

You deserve this, you fucked up.

“Shh, shhh, no, none of that,” John says as he unbuckles your gag, sliding it off and out from your mouth.

Drool follows it from your tongue being pressed down for so long, and John makes a soft, delighted sound as he rubs it against your lower lip.

“Let’s go to your bedroom, come on.”

It takes a lot of effort on your part, and you’re still completely convinced you did something wrong, but John manages to get you into your room. He sets down the gag and the lube and then gets you in bed, crawling after you.

“John,” you mumble, your voice pitched and shaky, “John, what did I—?”

“You were amazing,” John says, and then grinds his cock down into yours.

You stiffen and gasp, hands flying to his shoulders. He shifts both of your clothes, pulling your pants down and shifting his jeans until your bare cocks are wrapped in his hand.

“John,” you pant, “John, John, John…”

He groans and strokes his hand over the both of you, grinding against you and pressing your legs open.

You tilt your head up and part your lips, sharp gasps and muted moans falling out of your mouth as he brings you back to your peak. He’s calling you all sorts of names, praising you, telling you how good you’ve been, only a little longer, open your legs wider clementine, that’s it…

You finish before him, and John covers your mouth with his free hand to mute your strangled cry. You shake and cling to him, even as he spills over in his own hand to join your mess.

“Fuck,” John breathes, hovering over you, letting his head fall down to your shoulder.

You’re inclined to agree. Feebly, you manage to free one of your arms and grab a tissue from your bedside supply, handing it to him wordlessly.

“Thanks,” John says, all bucktoothed grin and flushed cheeks.

Once he’s cleaned up you realize that it’s late, really late, and he needs to go sleep on the couch.

“Don’t worry, I know where all the blankets are,” John says with a cheeky wink. “I bet I know this place better than you do!”

You blink at him, slow and lazy, and wonder if you could get him to sleep here with you.

John’s grin only gets wider when you don’t speak. “I was that good, huh? Well, maybe you’ll be back to normal tomorrow. Er, later today, I mean. As normal as you can get, anyway.”

You’re dimly aware that you’ve been insulted, but you feel too relaxed and peaceful to care.

John snorts and then leans over you, kissing you for the first time that evening. It’s brief, soft, and very disconcerting. “Good night, clementine. Quit being so terrible at taking care of yourself.”

He leaves to go sleep in the living room after that.

By the time you wake up in the morning it is ten o’clock, everyone is gone, and there’s a neatly folded blanket on the couch.

You feel fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments so far, they mean a lot!


	4. Chapter 4

You are beyond relieved to find that your worries were unfounded. You sleep, blissfully, during all the nights leading up to the weekend. You feel infinitely better, even to the point Dave makes a comment, and you cherish every fucking minute your body lets you rest.

You’ve gotten some headway in your commissions, the circuit board you trashed now remade and done better than the first time.

It’s Friday and you’re in a great mood. Dave is coming home early from work in a few minutes, you’ve drawn up the schematics for one of the commissions and it’s looking great.

The door opens and you leave your desk, walking into the main room and watching Dave come in carrying a large bag.

“Go shopping?”

“In a manner of speaking. I went through Rose’s closet and I’m now officially traumatized. I need counseling, Dirk.” Dave kicks the door closed and waves the bag at you. “This was the only normal shit I could find!”

“Didn’t she help?” You take the bag from him, curious to see what he managed to get.

“Oh yeah sure.” Dave clears his throat and adopts a silky, musical tone. “Oh, David, dear, may I recommend a dark velvet dress that is lovingly adorned with the arms of Cthulhu? I made it myself. No? Well how about this charming sweater made with the tears of eldritch horrors? Stop screaming, David, it’s very rude.”

You grin and shift through the bag. There’s a simple purple skirt, a t-shirt, some tights, and what looks like a handmade scarf. “Good haul, bro.”

“I had to fight H. P. Lovecraft himself to get that,” Dave mutters, taking the bag back and sighing. “So John is picking us up around ten, we’re meeting the girls at the bar.”

Your mind, which had flown off in a dozen directions at the mention of John, comes to a screeching halt as you process the sentence. “We?”

Dave frowns. “Yeah I thought it was weird, but he said you made plans to hang with him Friday?”

You are endlessly grateful that your shades are hiding your eyes, because they just went wide with shock. Think, dammit, play it cool.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, and then silently berate yourself. “I mean, he mentioned something when he was over after you went to bed. I thought he was joking.”

Yes, nailed it.

Dave shakes his head. “Bro, John doesn’t joke. He pranks, sure, but that fucker is horrifyingly sincere about making plans.”

“Oh no,” you mutter, and Dave nods.

“You have his number, right? You can still bail. I’m going to go run a sage smudge over these clothes to try and get any trapped spirits out.”

Your phone is already in your hand as Dave walks off, typing furiously.

_‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not going out tonight.’_

John texts back almost instantly, and you get the distinct impression of his smug, bucktooth smile going full blast.

_‘But Dirk, you saaaaid you wanted to hang out! You even said please!’_

A muscle in your jaw is getting tight.

_‘You know exactly what I meant, asshole._ ’

There’s a pause, and for a brief second you feel the heroin-like relief of getting out of plans. Then Dave pokes his head out of his room, phone in hand, and gives you a grimace.

“John is harassing me to get you to go. He keeps saying you agreed already.”

You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose.

“You could bring Roxy?” Dave offers, looking apologetic. “I’m sure Rose wouldn’t mind.”

“Roxy shouldn’t be at bars,” you mutter, and Dave looks even more sheepish.

“Right, sorry. Uh, not trying to make you go or anything, but you might like it?”

That isn’t the problem, but you can’t exactly say that. Your phone buzzes again, and you look down with a sinking feeling.

_‘I’m picking you both up tonight at ten! No arguments!’_

“God _dammit_ ,” you sigh. You don’t know how to get out of this without it looking pretty shifty. Or maybe you’re overthinking it? Isn’t it normal not to want to hang with your kid brother and his dorky friends?

“I had plans,” you say to nobody in particular. You turn your phone over in your hands and think about how to get the ball back in your court. You really would like to invite Roxy, but you’re not sure how comfortable she’d be at a bar. It’s not a game you really want to play.

You pull up your contact list and flip idly through. You could ask Jake to come with you, you’re on pretty good terms despite him being your ex. You could also ask Hal, but that’s about as safe as playing with a loaded gun. He’s calmed down significantly ever since moving in with Roxy, though you’re still mystified about that particular development.

Actually, now that you’re thinking about it, if they came together they would be fine. Hal has been helping Roxy stay on the wagon since day one, and she’s been keeping him in check in return.

You call her, glad to find some semblance of control in your life for once.

“Dirk!” Roxy says happily when she answers. “Oh my god, boy, it’s been way too long!”

“Hey Rox,” you say, wandering into your room. “I know, sorry about that. I was actually calling to see if you and Hal wanted to go out tonight? I got roped into going out by my bro and his bucktoothed-wonder-friend.”

Roxy giggles. “Which one?” There’s some noise and she calls “yeah, it’s Dirk!” before returning to the phone. “We’re free! I’ll ask Hal if he wants to go, but I’m game! Rosey is going too, so it’ll be great to have everybody together. Isn’t Dave going as her?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to get into that clusterfuck though.”

“Let me check with Hal, hold up,” Roxy says, and you hear a muted conversation start up.

You look around your room as you wait, then walk to your closet and look over your clothes. You’re not sure what to wear for tonight, but you’re wavering more towards comfort than style right now.

“We’re game!” Roxy says brightly, and you perk up.

“Okay, awesome. How’s everything with you two?”

“It’s great, we went out last week to celebrate my first year sober.”

You can hear the pride in her voice, and it makes your chest squeeze pleasantly. “Shit, a whole year? Congratulations, Rox, that’s incredible.”

“Congratulations to both of us, I think! You haven’t been hooking up with randos, so we’re both a year clean.”

She’s…technically right.

“We should celebrate properly, maybe do something next week just us, like old times.”

“Sounds fuckin’ amazing, it’s a date,” Roxy says warmly, and you smile.

“You guys want to come over here? Egbert is picking us up around ten so you can hitch a ride.”

“Yeah! See you then, D-Stri.”

“Bye, Rox.” You hang up and turn back to your closet. You’re looking forward to tonight a bit more now, and you also get the distinct feeling of just one-upping John.

You end up dawdling over picking your outfit out for a while, finally getting your act together around eight. You got with black skinny jeans, a blank tank top, and a checkered red flannel. You feel like you scored the perfect balance between comfort and style, and you spend the rest of your time preening in the mirror to get your hair right.

“Dirk,” Dave calls from his room, about half past nine. “Can you come here?”

You lean away from the mirror. “Yeah man, one second.”

You take off your shades and add some eyeliner just for the hell of it, then slide them back on. You head over to Dave’s room and find him already dressed and ready to go.

“What’s up?”

“Can you help me with this?” He holds up a compact and makeup brush. “I have no idea what to do with any of this.”

“Sure, sit down.”

He sits, setting it down and tugging at his skirt uncomfortably. He’s got his shades off, and even put in lavender contacts.

You pick up some eyeliner and give him a once over. “I think we’ll keep it light.”

“Sounds good,” Dave agrees.

You line his eyes, lighten his complexion a little, and then toss him some lip gloss which you trust he can figure out.

“The resemblance is nearing uncanny valley, little man,” you say when he’s done, and Dave grins.

There’s a knock at the door and Dave checks his watch. “He’s early.”

“Nah, that’s probably my crew,” you say, turning to get the door. You don’t notice the flash across Dave’s face, or that his hand immediately goes to his phone.

You open the door to see Hal and Roxy standing there. It still gives you a weird feeling to see them together. “Hey guys.”

“Dirk!” Roxy jumps on you, throwing her arms around your neck and hugging the air out of you.

You wrap your arms around her and squeeze. “Hey Rox, you look great.”

“She always does,” Hal says airily, and you nod at him.

“Hey man.”

“Hello,” he replies, and then breaks off his stare when Roxy whirls around and gives him a smile.

“You’re such a sweetie. Okay, I’m sooooo ready to dance! Rosey is already with Jade, so we’re meeting them there I think?”

You stand back and let them both in as Roxy talks, taking in their appearance when they walk past. Roxy is wearing a high-wasted skirt, a crop top, and a pair of heels that brings her to your height. Hal is in his typical leather jacket and ripped jeans.

Dave comes out of his room to see who you brought over, and a grin splits his face when he sees them.

“Hal!”

Hal smiles and walks over, giving him a hug. “Dave, hey man, lookin’ good.”

Roxy joins the hug and Dave laughs, muffled under their arms. He’s always gotten along way better with Hal than you ever did, but it doesn’t bug you as much as it used to. Probably because he didn’t compete with Hal over every damn thing when they were kids like you did.

Everybody migrates to the living room to wait, sprawling out and playing catch-up.

“I got a gig doing some research at this swanky new company downtown,” Roxy says, her head in Hal’s lap and her legs over yours. “It’s pretty sweet, I’m making bank.”

“You also like the job,” Hal reminds her fondly, playing with her hair, and she nods.

“Oh yeah, I’m cooking up some mad science there. Got peeps reporting to me already and everything.”

“That’s awesome,” Dave says from the armchair, still fiddling with his skirt. “Hal, are you still freelancing?”

“Yeah. I’m mostly working on my own shit now though,” Hal says, and Roxy reaches up and lightly swats him.

“Oh my goddddd, Hal, don’t be modest! You sold one of your patens to the government! We’re both making bank! You’re the sugar daddy to my sugar momma.”

You make a strangled noise and Hal laughs.

That’s still a new sound for you, and Dave smiles at them. Fuck, you think you actually have never heard Hal laugh?

Your train of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door, and Dave leaps up to get it.

You stay on the couch, toying with a strap on Roxy’s heels, while you hear Dave greet John and John’s loud commentary on Dave’s outfit.

The rest of you finally get up and walk over, and you meet John’s quizzical look with your own smug expression.

“John, you know Roxy and my brother, Hal, right?” You gesture towards your guests and John is all smiles.

“Yeah! Hey! Glad you’re both coming!”

Roxy strikes up a conversation with John as you all head out, you and Hal bringing up the rear.

“So,” Hal says quietly as you all trek downstairs, “what’s going on?”

You shrug, keeping your voice down. “Not much. Same old shit.”

He arches an eyebrow and you rephrase.

“Not the same. Different. But nothing drastically so.”

“Mhm. So why the sudden call?”

You hate how he questions every damn thing you do, you’d hoped that he would have stopped that by now. But then again, Hal has always been unnervingly observant.

“Is it so outlandish that I didn’t want to get stuck alone with a bunch of college kids?”

Hal mulls it over while you all head towards John’s car. “Maybe. But it’s never that straight forward with you, is it?”

You’re saved from answering by getting to the car and piling in. John and Roxy take the front, while the rest of you pile into the back. You get Dave in the middle, a helpful barrier between you and Hal that you know he notices.

Thankfully, Dave is the best barrier in the world, and immediately engages Hal in conversation for the whole ride.

“I’m planning on calling a cab for everybody to get home,” John says brightly when he pulls into a parking spot downtown. “So no DD’ing tonight!”

“Excuse you,” Roxy says, “but I am the champion of DD’ing, I’m simply the best there is, so gimme those keys!”

Hal snickers as Roxy snags the keys from John and bails out of the car. “She’s right. We’ll get everybody home.”

The rest of you get out and follow Roxy. Two girls are waiting on the corner of the street, and one of them starts waving eccentrically when she spots your group.

“Jade, Rose,” John shouts, waving back just as enthusiastically. You and Dave share a look.

Once everybody is done hugging and complimenting Dave on his stunningly accurate outfit, the lot of you finally get into the bar.

It’s dark, just getting crowded, and you immediately head to the bar. Half of the group joins you, though Dave and Roxy hang back.

Thankfully people split off into little groups after they get their drinks, and you find a less crowded space to hang out in. It’s away from John, there’s a place for you to sit, and Roxy just joined you so it’s a win all around.

Except Hal slides in right beside her, and now you’re a little nervous. He hands her a red drink, which at your raised eyebrow he informs you is a Shirley Temple.

“Holy shit, there’s like, seven cherries in here!” Roxy says excitedly, holding up her glass.

“I may or may not have robbed the cherry bucket,” Hal says nonchalantly, and Roxy giggles. He’s got something in a glass that smells like bourbon, and you have a long island ice tea because you hate the taste of alcohol.

“Okay Dirk, time to spill,” Roxy says, taking a sip from her drink.

“I haven’t even finished a drink yet, Rox, it’s a little early to be spilling,” you joke, and she rolls her eyes.

“No, about your life! Tell us the deets!”

“Yeah, Dirk,” Hal says silkily, smirking at you over her shoulder, “give us all those dirty deets.”

“I think you two are worse together than you are separate,” you mockingly complain, and Roxy waggles her eyebrows. “But seriously, nothing that interesting is happening to me. I’m going well with my work, probably going to buy a new toaster soon. That’s about the most fascinating thing happening to me.”

“Ooo, we just got our dishwasher replaced!” Roxy swings her feet from her stool. “I can’t believe it’s shit like that that makes my whole week. I’d be sad about it if it wasn’t the most banging dishwasher ever.”

“Should I be worried?” Hal asks, glancing at her, and she pats his thigh reassuringly.

“Naw, bb, you’re my one and only. But it is a sexy dishwasher,” she adds to you, and you grin around the rim of your glass.

The three of you shoot the shit for a while, and by the time you’ve gotten through your drink you’re feeling a lot more relaxed. Roxy ties a cherry steam with her tongue and Hal gets both of you new drinks while she starts making a chain.

It’s…actually really nice. You spot Jade and Dave dancing at some point, Jade clearing one hell of a space around her as she jumps around and swings your brother like a rag doll. You snort and point it out to Hal, who takes a picture of it.

You can’t see Rose or John, which you count as a plus, and by the time you finish your second drink it’s pretty late and you’re feeling good.

“We should dance,” Roxy declares loudly, tying her cherry stem bracelet around her wrist. “Come on you two, lets go!”

Hal follows her, and you go after a second of debate.

It’s dark, the entire place now much more lively than when you got there. Dim red and yellow lights from the bar are all you have to go on, and the music is something catchy from a few years ago.

You find Roxy and Hal dancing together, and Roxy beckons you in with a big grin. You all dance together song after song, and it’s such a nicer version of what you used to do that you find yourself smiling a lot more than usual.

Roxy sees it, of course she does, and gives you a wink.

You spot Dave and Rose dancing at one point, a lot less violently than Jade had been, and notice a few girls eyeing the pair of them hopefully. You’ll have to tell him tomorrow.

Hands slide onto your hips, and it’s only due to the familiarity of them that you don’t leap away. You turn around to see Roxy and Hal are gone, and John is in their place.

“Hey!” He’s grinning at you, hands still firmly where they shouldn’t be.

“No,” you say curtly, and he sighs.

“Dirk, it’s _dancing_ , calm down! You’re such a baby.” He drops his hands though, but does start dancing in your space.

You let it slide for now, you’re having fun and you’re not about to let Egbert spoil that. So you dance, and his smile grows and you ignore the weird pleased feeling you get from it. As the songs bleed together the pair of you get closer, and his hands find their way back to your hips.

The dance floor is getting packed, and you find yourself pretty damn close to buckteeth and an unfairly broad chest. The shirt he’s wearing is collared, something nice, but tight in the right places. You’re eyeing him up, you know you are, but it’s dark as hell and you’re wearing shades, so nobody can tell.

His hands slip back, settling right above your ass as he grinds into you, smirking cheekily as the beat turns into something rumbly with bass. You let him, you always let him get away with too much, and your arms drape themselves over his shoulders as you roll your hips with him. It’s hot, the press of his body against yours, hands keeping you against him. You’re close enough to kiss him, but you have enough sense left to know that’s not a great idea.

He’s looking at you like he knows, like he had the same idea, and his eyes are bright with mischief.

And now he’s too close, way too close, and your mind snaps into action and screams at you.

You jerk away, your hands placed on his chest to keep him at bay, and John looks hurt.

“Drink,” is all you say, and then you’re bailing.

You find the bar and order a water, needing to clear your head. You don’t see any of your group, but it’s a relief. You don’t want to explain why you’re so twitchy right now.

You get your water and take a long drink, closing your eyes and sighing into your cup. That had been a bad idea.

“Dirk,” someone calls, and you groan.

John’s there, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

You sit your ass down on an empty bar stool. “What? Go dance.”

“Well I was, and with somebody too,” John says petulantly, finding a seat next to you. “Then he ran away like I grew a second head or something!”

“Dude, look,” you begin uncomfortably, twisting your cup around between your hands. “You know that…what we have is, like, just physical?”

Ugh, that sounded terrible even to you, and you busy yourself with drinking the rest of your water.

“Well yeah,” John snorts, “and dancing is a physical activity, doofus.”

You frown at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Dirk, you overthink everything! It’s just dancing, seriously, it’s not like you could even handle going on a real date with me.”

“I—excuse me?” you sputter, looking at him despite yourself. “What the hell does that mean?”

John gestures vaguely at the ceiling. “Oh come on, really? You overthink everything, can’t do a single activity without planning every step. You couldn’t go on a date with me, it’d make you crazy!”

“Uh, no, _you_ make me crazy, not dating,” you defend, crossing your arms.

“Uh huh, right,” John says, eyes wide. “Not that you’re, what, petrified of potential intimacy?”

You jerk back like he slapped you, heart pounding. “That’s not—”

“Oh yes it is,” John says, pointing at you. “Any time we so much as share a room together you look like you’re about to die! Everything is done on your terms, and even then you whine and drag your feet like it’s the biggest inconvenience in the world!”

“Now wait a second—”

But John bulldozes over you effortlessly. “Face it, Dirk. You can’t deal with something like that. So calm down, I’m not going to do anything like that because I know you. And I know you can’t deal with it.”

You’re on your feet before you know it, leaning in to him and practically snarling. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your blood is rushing in your ears and you’ve never been so pissed. “You think you know me because we fuck? Try again. You know what gets me off and that’s it, Sherlock. So don’t you talk to me like you know every fucking thing about me and my life.”

“Then prove it,” John says defiantly, glaring up at you from his seat.

“ _Fine_ ,” you spit. “One date. And I’ll be the _perfect fucking gentleman_.”

“Great,” John snaps. “I’ll be taking bets on how long it’ll take for you to bail during dinner.”

“Get ready to lose.” You spin around on your heel and storm off, furious.

You find Hal and Roxy on a balcony on the second floor of the bar, leaning against a railing tangled in string lights and talking quietly to each other. You hesitate in the doorway, suddenly reluctant to intrude. You get the weird feeling of being an outsider among your own friends, isolated despite being surrounded by people.

You leave them, heading back down and going to the farthest end of the bar to hide and have another drink. You sit and watch people, keeping an eye out for the group you came with. You see Roxy come back downstairs, and shortly after Hal reappears. She’s looking around, probably for you, but your shrink back into the shadows.

Rose is in your line of sight now, arguing with John. No, wait, that’s Dave.

You set your half-finished drink down and grimace. Dave looks pretty pissed, judging by the increasingly exaggerated arm gestures.

“Dirk, there you are,” a voice says, and you look to see the real Rose standing next to you. “We’re all about to head out. Are you ready?”

You nod and get up, following her through the crowd and towards Dave and John, who stop arguing when they spot you.

Jade emerges next with Roxy and Hal in tow, and the lot of you leave quietly.

Roxy drives, and you sit up front with her to avoid any conversation. You press your cheek against the cold glass of the car window and stare at the street lights flickering by, feeling extremely drained from your outburst. Everyone is crammed into John’s car, Jade sitting on Rose’s lap and Dave on Hal’s to fit everybody.

“John, I’ll drop you off first,” Roxy says.

“Oh, can you drop me off there too? We’re having a sleepover,” Jade says brightly.

“Not a problem. Rosey, Dave, you two want to join?” Roxy asks, and they share a glance.

“I’ll join,” Rose says, and Dave shakes his head.

“I need to get this crap off my face, so I’ll pass for now.”

Roxy pulls up to an apartment complex you’re intimately familiar with, and you gaze out of the window as half of the group tumbles out. “I’ll drop your car off tomorrow, John. Good night!”

She pulls away from the curb and drives back towards your place. “I’ll drop you and Davey, then we’ll head home.”

Dave makes a disappointed noise. “Do you have to leave? I haven’t seen you both in a while.”

You spot Hal nudging Dave affectionately in the mirror and look away.

Roxy glances at you and hums, tapping the steering wheel. “Wellll, you know what we haven’t done in a while?”

“What’s that?” Hal asks, voice light and teasing.

“Sleepover! Those kids have the right idea.”

Dave perks up. “Oh, hell yeah, that sounds awesome.”

“What do you think, Dirk?” Roxy asks.

“Sounds good to me,” you say distractedly, but if Roxy notices you tone she blessedly doesn’t comment.

With that decided, you all end up in a pile of every soft thing in your apartment on the floor of your living room. It’s more of a nest than a bed, but it makes you weirdly nostalgic when Roxy beams up at you in a pair of your pajamas.

“Damn, just like when we were kids,” Hal says, flopping down next to Roxy.

“If you want, we could get in a screaming match to make it just like old times,” you offer, and Hal snickers.

Dave rolls his eyes and climbs in, wedging himself between you and Hal. “How about you don’t. Some of us want to sleep.”

After some shifting and Dave whining about how cold your feet are, you all settle in. The alcohol is weighing heavily on your mind, and combined with the warmth of your family around you, you are easily lulled to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaat? I snuck my favorite rare-pair into a fic about my other favorite rare-pair? Whaaat????
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments, they really made my day :) 
> 
> I'll be trying to update more frequently from now on!


	5. Chapter 5

After Hal and Roxy leave, with promises to get lunch sometime soon, you spend the afternoon puttering around the apartment and doing nothing in particular. You do manage to finish a commission and get it boxed up and ready for the post office, which you count as a win.

Dave, for the most part, is catching up on homework for his internship credits, so you leave him be. Especially since he’s been in a weird mood since he woke up his morning, occasionally throwing ugly looks at his phone when it buzzes.

That evening you do bug him though. You tap on his door, leaning against the frame and shifting your old, grey sweatpants a little higher. You seriously need to replace them, god damn.

“Sup?” Dave calls, and you take that as a cue to open the door.

“Titanic?”

“Oh, yeah—” Dave is cut off by his phone, and you see the ID of the caller right before Dave snatches it off his desk and declines it.

Why is John calling him rather than texting? And, whoa, okay, Dave looks pretty irritated.

“You okay?” you venture, and he tosses his phone onto his bed.

“Yeah, all good. Let me grab a blanket. Hal put shit back weirdly so now I don’t know where anything is.”

You leave him to it and head to the living room, setting up the movie. He’s still not out, so you go into the kitchen and make popcorn. Now armed with buttery, salty goodness, you curl up on the couch and watch the title screen replay.

It cycles through twice before Dave shows up, sans blanket, and looking thoroughly worn out.

You know better than to push, so you hand him the popcorn and play the movie.

It’s going well, and you even get Dave to join in with pointing out inconsistencies. You’re maybe halfway through the movie and ass deep in your usual tirade about how lack of communication is the bane of humanity, when your phone buzzes.

You pull it out automatically and see John has texted you.

_‘Tuesday night, dinner at seven. Still on?’_

You wonder if it’s meant to come off challenging, and you scowl at it for a minute before realizing Dave is really quiet again.

You glance up and see him firmly fixated on the screen, jaw tight.

Okay…so that could mean one of two things. Either he’s reached his max bullshit capacity for these two idiots on screen, or he saw the text and is pissed.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears and you pocket your phone, thinking of your options. You don’t want to ignore this, you literally just went on a monologue about not talking about personal issues. But seeing Dave’s lips pressed into a thin line is making your nerves go nuts.

Right, take a breath, talk about it like an adult.

“So, John and I are going to dinner on Tuesday,” you say casually, like this piece of information isn’t something causing your heart to fail currently.

“Yeah, he mentioned something about that last night,” Dave says, his voice curt.

Oh fuck this, no, you’re not going to beat around this. Not with Dave. “Look, if that makes you uncomfortable, I can cancel—?”

“It’s not that,” Dave says quickly.

You pause the movie and shove your urge to vomit way down. “Then what is it?”

Dave’s jaw flexes, and you get the distinct impression that there is something seriously bothering him.

“It’s just,” he starts, pauses, and then rakes his hand through his hair. “Fuck, look, I don’t want to sound like an asshole.”

“That’s a promising start,” you say dryly.

“John’s my best friend,” Dave plows on, “but he can also be a dick. I think…I think he’s jerking you around.”

“What?”

You think you got whiplash from that. He’s jerking _you_ around? If anything it’s probably the other way, but then again you’ve always been very upfront about your relationship with him. Hence the dare-date.

“He told me what he said last night, and he’s being a jackass,” Dave snaps. “He’s just doing this because he thinks you’ll bail on him, he told me.”

“He told you?”

Dave turns to you, his expression a little strained. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to think it was a legit…I don’t know…thing? I’m so pissed at him right now, he’s being a major asshole and I told him to call it off but he won’t.”

“Dave, it’s cool,” you hold your hands up, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

“No it isn’t!” Dave protests, taking his shades off to glare at you properly. “After all that bullshit with Jake and your weird one night stand phase, you don’t deserve this shit! John is great but he’s also a huge jerk sometimes and you don’t deserve that.”

“Dave,” you say, a smile starting to tug at your mouth. “Hey man, listen for a second.”

You wait until he nods, and then take your own shades off and clip them to the front of your shirt.

“Okay, first, I’m super touched, dude. Like, really. You’re the best little brother. Secondly, I’m fully aware of what John is doing. And he absolutely is a dick. But honestly, I want to do it, mostly to rub it in his smug, bucktoothed face. I’m extremely aware it’s not an actual date.”

Dave still looks unconvinced, shifting on the couch and balling his hands in his lap. “He said—”

“I know dude, I was there,” you interrupt. “It was…” you pause, turning over that memory in your mind carefully, “exceptionally rude. But all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“I don’t like it,” Dave mumbles. “You should be going on real dates.”

“Oh yes, with my many suitors,” you joke, but Dave’s face remains set and you sigh.

“I’m not lonely, dude. I have you, and Roxy, and I guess by extent Hal, but don’t tell him I said that.” That gets you a smile, and you meet it with your own. “I’m good, man. Really.”

“Okay,” Dave says, shoulders slumping. “But if he pulls _any shit_ —”

“It’s Egbert, he will. But I can more than handle it.” You nudge him, smiling, and he jostles you back with his shoulder. It turns into a shoving match, and you wrap your arm around his head and ruffle his hair until he squeaks.

You’re both grinning when you separate, and it warms something inside of you. You weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t lonely. Dave is your world.

You text John back a confirmation and then you both return to the movie.

On the night of your not-date, you promise Dave to text him if something happens and fend off his request to disguise himself in the table behind you.

“Don’t wait up,” you call at him, and he snorts.

“Fat chance. I’ve already sent John four death threats in the past hour,” he grumbles, tapping at his phone.

“I’m sure he was appropriately terrified,” you say, pulling on your shoes.

“He sent me sad cat gif.”

You straighten your shirt and check your phone. There aren’t any messages, but you don’t expect him to be courteous about alerting you to his ETA.

“Speak of the devil,” you mutter when there’s a knock on the door.

You open it, Dave hovering behind you, and are greeted with a massive bouquet of sunflowers. Behind it, blue eyes bright and smug smile in place, is John.

“Oh, for me? You shouldn’t have,” you deadpan, taking the flowers from him.

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have,” Dave mutters, eyeballing John as you go set the flowers down in the kitchen sink.

“Dave, relax! They’re ironic, I thought you of all people would appreciate it!” John says cheerfully, though you do notice he wilts a bit under Dave’s tight-lipped expression.

“Ready to go?” you call, and John looks a bit relieved.

“Yes! Unless, of course, you’d rather not?” He’s got that cheeky grin going full blast, and you meet it with your own poker face.

“But babe, I waxed and everything.”

Dave throws his hands up and retreats, mumbling too fast under his breath to pick up.

John offers you his arm, and you take it, smiling with a bit too many teeth. “Shall we?”

You leave like that, heading down to where John’s parked. This doesn’t feel like any date you’ve been on, you can practically taste the friendly animosity crackling in the air. It’s oddly exhilarating, and you make sure to give his arm a squeeze before getting into the car.

He holds the door open for you, of course.

You simper at him, and he looks uncomfortable for a brief second.

Score.

You end up at a moderately fancy Italian place, perfect for the collared shirts and dark jeans you’re both sporting.

You beat John to the holding the seat out move, and smirk as you settle in across from him.

“Nice place,” you comment, looking around. “How much effort did you put into finding it?”

“Five minutes on yelp,” John says, and you raise an eyebrow.

“How romantic.”

It is though, the dark lighting of the restaurant making your table seem cozy and secluded, especially with the little flickering candle between you two. It’s filled with mostly couples too, by your reckoning. A good power play.

A waiter comes by and you order a glass of wine, and spotting John’s slightly baffled expression at the drink list, order one for him too.

“I swear they make up half of this shit,” John says once the waiter leaves. “Seriously, what the hell is a California blend? A blend of _what_?”

“Bad music and liberalism,” you comment, and John laughs. “But come on dude, you should at least know four or five good wines to impress your date with.”

“Is that what you just did? Because I’m not very impressed by your knowledge of fermented grape juice.”

You smirk. “I never said I was, but thanks for assuming I would try. I’m flattered you think I’m giving it so much thought.”

“You wound me, Dirk,” John gasps, setting a hand on his chest.

The waiter arrives with bread and your wine, and you watch as John takes a cautious sip.

“Okay…that’s not terrible,” he admits, and you mentally give yourself a point.

“So, tell me about yourself,” you say, resting your chin on your hand and giving him your least sincere smile.

John perks up and meets you smile with an impish one of his own. “Hmm well, I’m in college studying biology, hoping to go into the premed track eventually. I have fantastic taste in movies,” –he continues on despite your scathing noise- “and I really enjoy Swedish fish.”

“Dude, gross.”

“They’re good!” John protests.

The waiter comes back over and you both realize you haven’t even glanced at your menus. You grab yours and pick the first thing you see, and judging by John’s slightly flustered order you guess he did too.

“So, premed?” you ask once the waiter leaves. To your surprise John grimaces and picks up his wine again, preferring to stare into the glass rather than meet your stare.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“…not to be an ass, but that’s a pretty big life decision to be making on an ‘it’s okay’.”

He sets the glass down and scowls. “It’s complicated.”

You raise your hands and shrug. “All good, just trying to get to know my hot date. Create some sort of emotional bond so you’ll feel pressured to call me back.”

That gets a grin, and you feel a warm surge in your chest. “Okay, fair enough. But I’ve been talking about myself this entire time, tell me about you.”

You roll your eyes behind your shades, though you think he knows anyway judging by his pout. “Okay, but there’s not much to tell. I live with my younger brother, dropped out of college, I run my own business.”

“I always meant to ask about that. Why did you drop out?”

This…is getting a little too close to actual conversation. Though you guess it’s retribution for poking at his career path earlier. “I am underappreciated in my time, John. College wasn’t ready for my level of genius.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but he squints at you suspiciously. “Okay, but Dave’s told me some of the stuff you build, that’s pretty impressive for someone who can barely keep it together without—”

“Maybe,” you interrupt loudly, “that’s not appropriate dinner conversation, dear.”

John smirks. “Terribly sorry, pumpkin.”

Your mouth twists down at the corners, but you’re saved from answering by the arrival of your food. It turns out you ordered some kind of stuffed pasta, and John got a fish dish.

The next couple minutes are spent in blissful silence as you both eat, and you’re stuck by how not awful this fake date is. If only all of your actual dates could be this not shitty. Not that you have a lot of those anyway.

John clears his throat and you snap out of your musings to see him offering you a piece of fish. You reach to take his fork, then pause when he tuts and raises an eyebrow at you.

Oh, okay, you can play this game.

You lean forward and let him feed you it, keeping eye contact as you take the fish and then flick your tongue over your lips as you lean back.

“It’s good,” you say, pleased when John’s eyes snap away from your mouth. “Want some of mine?”

“Sure.”

You feed him a piece too and resist the almost uncontrollable urge to just smash your sauce-covered bite into his face.

“ _Augh, Dirk!_ ”

Okay, you don’t resist.

You laugh as John wipes sauce off his cheek, slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle it.

“Fuck, sorry man, totally an accident,” you say around your grin, and John gives you a look.

“I’ll get you back for that.”

“I’m sure you will,” you sigh, and then return to your food.

You both finish your meal without any more casualties and John orders dessert to split, a pretty good move on his part.

“So, hypothetically,” you say casually, “if you didn’t do this whole biology thing. What would you want to do?”

John pauses in toying with his napkin and thinks for a second. “It’s kind of dumb, but I really like making music.”

“That’s not dumb,” you blurt out, startled. “Music is great.”

He shrugs, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Maybe. But I can’t do anything with it realistically. It’s more of a hobby, you know?”

“I made a career out of my hobby.”

“Yeah, well, your hobby is robotics. That’s a bit more lucrative than piano,” John snaps.

“Point taken. But I think that’s pretty cool.”

John looks a bit surprised at that, but doesn’t answer.

Your dessert arrives and you eye the multiple layers of chocolate and whipped cream with some apprehension.

“Dude, what the fuck is that?”

“Dessert!” John says brightly, picking up one of the forks. “It’s good, Dirk, stop looking like it’ll attack you.”

“I’m more worried about you attacking me,” you mutter, but pick up your fork.

The cake turns out to be way too rich for you, and John looks thoroughly disappointed when you refuse to take another bite from his fork.

You just lower your shades enough to wink at him and then finish your wine. You’re feeling pretty smug, now that the date is wrapping up, and only mildly surprised John hasn’t commented on your impressive level of commitment you’re apparently incapable of.

When you spot the check coming you whip your credit card out and flash step to the waiter, scaring the living daylights out of him, and practically shoving the card in his face.

“No fair!” John complains when you reappear in your seat, smirk fixed on your face. “I asked you out, jerk, I should pay.”

“You can get next time,” you say automatically, then snap your mouth shut. Next time? Wow, no, _fuck no_ why did you say that?

The check comes back and you sign and leave a tip, pocketing your wallet and then getting up. “Shall we?”

John gets up as well, tossing his napkin on the table and then, of all things, taking your hand in his.

You don’t comment on it, it’s easier to just let it happen. But it does make your heart start trying to leap into your throat.

You both walk back to John’s car and he once again holds the door open for you. You both drive back in silence for the most part, John occasionally making painfully cheesy remarks about your face in the street light.

He walks you up to your apartment, of course he does, holding your hand the entire time as you climb the stairs together.

“God dammit, Dirk, why don’t you take the elevator?” John complains, and you snicker.

“Leg day, Egbert.”

He pulls you to a stop on your floor, right by the door that leads to your hallway. “I better say bye here, in case Dave is waiting to get the drop on me or something.”

You wouldn’t put it past your bro, so you nod. “Well this was….”

John nods, like you said a complete sentence and not whatever the fuck that was.

Time to pull out the last stop, because you may or may not have planned this part of your fake date. You give him a small grin and raise an eyebrow.

“What, no kiss?”

John matches your grin, mischief lighting up in his eyes. It’s…a good look for him. He places a hand on your lower back and pulls you in, his other hand brushing against your jaw as he presses his lips against yours.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to John kissing you gently. It’s odd, a little unnerving, like seeing a teacher in the grocery store. But it’s soft, warm, and kind of nice, so you kiss him back.

He presses you back into the cool wall of the stairway, teeth nibbling on your lower lip. When your lips part his tongue invades your mouth, claiming every inch of space.

This is familiar, and you melt into it without thought. Your arms loop easily around his neck and you let him explore until satisfied. You’re a bit breathless when he finally pulls away, and a low groan escapes you when his mouth finds your neck.

John bites down, then sucks a mark into your sensitive skin as you squirm and cling to him. His hands are running along your sides, up to your chest and then back down to your hips.

“John,” you manage to get out as his thigh gets dangerously close to places it shouldn’t be.

He blinks and pulls away, lips pink and a flush high on his cheeks. You doubt you look much better.

“Oh, sorry.”

“I didn’t say to stop,” you say, maybe a little petulantly.

“Oh, Dirk,” John practically purrs, setting off your danger senses, “I never put out on a first date.”

He winks and leaves you there, stunned as you watch him practically skip back down the stairs.

“ _Asshole_ ,” you breathe, painfully turned on.

You wait for a few minutes to get yourself back under control, rearranging your shirt collar to cover the mark blooming on your neck. Once you look a bit more put together, you leave the stairwell and head to your apartment.

Like you both predicted, Dave is waiting for you.

He looks out into the hallway as you kick off your shoes. “He didn’t walk you up?”

“He booked it in the stairwell. Something about over-protective brothers,” you comment, and Dave closes the door.

“How was it?”

You venture into the kitchen and spot the sunflowers in the sink. You tell Dave briefly about dinner as you get down a vase and get them arranged in it, playing with them until you’re satisfied.

“That sounds…tame,” Dave says suspiciously.

“There was a pasta incident, but otherwise it was pretty normal,” you reply, setting the flowers on the counter. “I’m going to head to bed. You need anything?”

Dave shakes his head and then watches you go. You hear him return to his room shortly after, and you get ready for bed absentmindedly.

You climb into bed and sigh, relaxing into the sheets and feeling oddly calm. It wasn’t a bad night, all things considered.

Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see John’s text lighting it up.

_‘Guess you can date like a normal person. Don’t let Dave kill me!’_

You grin and set it down, nestling a little deeper into your covers. Sleep comes easy to you, surprisingly so, and you drift off feeling warm and content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having such a blast yanking these two idiots around I love them so much haha
> 
> Thank you all for the kind words you've left on my story!!! It's my fuel and I love them thank you :)


	6. Chapter 6

When you wake up you realize that you’ve been sleeping soundly for almost a week now, and not that you’re complaining, but that’s a little odd.

You roll over and grab you phone, yawning as you check your missed messages.

Roxy texted you about getting lunch today, and you tap out an affirmative before getting your day started. Dave already left, so you slip a slice of bread into the toaster and push down the tab.

Except when you push it the lever wont lock, and you jiggle it around before coming to the conclusion that the inevitable has arrived.

“Dammit, Dave, you killed a perfectly good toaster.”

You take the bread out and pick the toaster up, turning it over in your hands. You could probably fix it, but you don’t know if that’s worth it when forty bucks could get you a nice new toaster, maybe one with two slots rather than this archaic one slice toaster.

Either way, you’re going to shame Dave thoroughly for this.

You set it down and make yourself a smoothie instead, then wander around the apartment and make a mental to-do list for today.

You’re halfway through convincing yourself that maybe you should vacuum when you get a text.

_‘Bro, can you call John? He’s not answering me.’_

You set your smoothie down and answer Dave’s text.

_‘Can you tell me why I have to build a miniature coffin for a small kitchen appliance?’_

You really should vacuum. There are bits of popcorn leftover from when John came over for a movie night, and it’s making your skin crawl.

_‘I’ll send it to Valhalla when I get back. But seriously, can you call him? He’s ignoring Rose too.’_

Can you ignore Rose? You always got the creeping suspicion that she just sort of…knew everything. Or at least, the coy little smirk she constantly wore gave that impression.

You glance at your watch and realize you slept in pretty late, and you should be getting ready to meet Roxy.

_‘I have lunch plans, but I’ll harass him afterwards.’_

Dave thanks you and you resist the urge to ask him why he thinks you’ll have any luck when John’s actual friends can’t seem to reach him.

Are you friends?

The question does weird things to your mind so you decide it’s not important and push it away for now. If only your mind agreed with you and didn’t instead seize on that stupid question and start obsessing.

By the time you’re dressed and ready to meet Roxy for lunch, you have well and truly over-analyzed your odd relationship with John. It’s driving you insane because you have no god damn idea what this has turned into. Friends with benefits doesn’t fit, and fuck buddy is just…not quite it. Too impersonal. Fuck friend? But how would that be different from the first label?

“Why does it need a label anyway?” you gripe to yourself in the car, following Roxy’s instructions to a quaint little sandwich shop in town.

You park and start walking, shooting her a text to let her know you’re almost there.

This really shouldn’t be an issue.

Roxy waves at you when you enter from her booth in the back, smiling as you make your way over. It’s a nice spot, right by a large window that lets in a lot of light. The entire place is pretty nice. Old, white washed wood walls and even older wooden floors. It looks like someone’s house that was remodeled, and you wonder idly how Roxy found it.

“Hey Dirk!” Roxy says as you slide in across from her. “How’s it going?”

“Good. How is it you have time to get lunch in the middle of the day with your work?”

Roxy rolls her eyes and waves a hand at you. “Oh please, like they’d say anything with the amount of money I’m making them. I have, like, infinite lunch hours.”

You both go up to the counter and order sandwiches and drinks, returning after a few minutes with your food.

Roxy watches you as you take a sip of lemonade. “So, I’ve got a question for you, D-Stri.”

“Shoot.”

She drums her fingers on the table and then picks up her sandwich. “What’s your fix now?”

You cough, startled, and look up quickly to see her studying you over her food. “What?”

“Come on, don’t play. We both had some bad shit goin’ on a year ago. But now we’re here, and you haven’t told me, like, anything lately? It’s just vague BS about your job and whatever.”

“But that is—” you start, and then shut up instantly when she gives you a look.

“Dirk, look, real talk here,” she says, picking at the bread while holding your gaze. “I’m actually kind of…I don’t know, worried? Or really impressed. Because you had some shit goin’ on, and suddenly you just fuckin’ dropped your coping mechanism like it’s hot? Except it was a shitty coping mechanism. Like my drinking.”

“Rox, we don’t have to talk about that,” you say quietly, and she shakes her head.

“No, I should talk about it. But this isn’t about me. Hal says you’re fine, but I’m still worried. So which is it? New coping mechanism or quitting cold turkey?”

Your skin itches and you feel shame burn through you. It swallows you, hot and uncomfortable, because Roxy has been with you since day one. She knows you, really knows you, and you don’t know if you can outright lie.

“It’s…” you stop, your chest growing tight. “The first one.”

She nods, and to your immense relief, doesn’t sink her nails into it. She does toy with her drink though, finally dropping her stare.

You sit there quietly for a while, both of you picking at your food, and you feel terrible. But you also don’t know what to say because it’s not like last time. You have control over this, weirdly enough, and it’s safe.

Some part of you whispers that you just admitted to feeling safe with John, and you groan.

Roxy raises her eyebrows at you and you gesture helplessly.

“I don’t know, Rox, but it’s not like last time,” you manage to say, and she nods.

“Me too. I’m not, like, putting on a powdered wig and judging your ass. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You’re the best,” you say quietly, and she smiles at you.

“Nah, I’m just heavily invested in your life, you dork. Will you tell me what’s going on?”

You open your mouth to say no, and you know she’ll respect that, but something stops you. This whole thing is starting to get a bit complicated, and having outside input might actually be kind of helpful. You sure as shit don’t know what’s been going on lately.

“I can try? But I don’t really know anymore.” You take a bite of your food to give you a minute to frame your thoughts.

“Okay, so, it’s like this. I had a fuck buddy for a while,” you begin, pulling your drink towards you and stirring it. “It was fine, really good actually. I’d hook up with him when it…when it got bad. And it worked, Rox, it really worked.”

“And it was just him?” Roxy asks.

“Yeah, for the entire year.”

“Oh snap, that’s awesome!” Roxy elbows you from across the table and grins.

“Yeah, kind of impressive given my track record. Anyway, it was fine, until a couple weeks ago. Things sort of got…complicated? He said he didn’t just want to do things on my terms, and then we sort of went on a not-date? Like it was expressly conveyed it was not a date, just two dudes having dinner.”

“Right. Dinner. Definitely not a date,” Roxy says sarcastically.

“He _said_ —” you begin, but she cuts you off.

“Dirk, are you hearing yourself? It was a date. Even if it was a joke, it’s still a date. Go on.”

You struggle for a second and then brush it off for now. “Right, well, anyway I think the dynamic is changing and I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Roxy leans back in her seat and narrows her eyes in thought. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah. Sorry I kept it from you.”

She snorts. “Dirk, we don’t tell each other all our shit, it’s fine. I don’t tell you how I cope now.”

“Yeah, uh, I think I really don’t want to know,” you say quickly, mind flashing to Hal.

She grins slyly at you, eyebrows arching. “Oh? You sure? You just shared, so it seems fair.”

“Please no,” you say weakly, and she laughs.

“Okay, okay, but Hal will be super disappointed to hear that.”

“Oh no, how horrible,” you mutter.

“But back to the problem. Do you not like the new dynamic?” Roxy cocks her head at you.

You think it over, replaying the fake date in your head and how Dave asked you to check up on John earlier. “I don’t know. It’s just…different.”

“And your anxiety doesn’t like change.”

You flinch, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. It’s true, but that doesn’t mean you like acknowledging it.

At your silence, Roxy continues on. “If you’ve been seeing this guy for so long, isn’t it natural that things shift? Or at least unavoidable? And I feel like you would’ve bailed months ago if he wasn’t actually helping you and not being terrible.”

“Why does everybody think I can’t commit to shit? I don’t bail on people,” you snap, exasperated.

“Okay, wrong choice of words,” Roxy says lightly. “But you also didn’t stick around with one, uh, boy toy for very long in the past. So this is kind of out of character for you.”

“Can’t people change?” you grumble.

“Yeah, Dirk, absolutely! So why can’t your relationship with this dude change a bit too?” Roxy says earnestly, leaning forward.

“That…sort of makes sense,” you admit, unfolding your arms.

“I’ll say something else. You’ve been looking a lot better this past year,” Roxy says warmly. “It’s really nice. Even Hal noticed.”

“Is discussing my life the only thing you two do?” you ask with mock sulkiness, and she giggles.

“It’s an entertaining topic!”

“Gee, thanks.”

She gives you a coy little grin and takes a sip of her drink.

You mull over the conversation for a bit before she asks you about what else you’ve been up to, and you tell her about the demise of your toaster. You both spend a while discussing funeral arrangements and how soon is too soon to get a new toaster. You don’t want to interrupt Dave’s grieving time or anything. Roxy solemnly offers up a time period of a year, and you counter that there will never be another toaster like that so you need at least a decade.

After a bit of playful debating you settle on four years of mourning before purchasing your next toaster, and you send the information to Dave while Roxy pays for lunch behind your back.

“This was really fun,” she says as you both leave, arms linked.

“Yeah. We should spill uncomfortable secrets in public areas more often,” you say dryly, and she nods.

“Hell yeah.”

You walk her to her car and wave as she leaves. It’s almost two in the afternoon by this point, and you walk over to your car slowly.

On your way you pass a convenience store. You spot something in the window that makes you pause, and after a quick deliberation, you pop in and buy it.

The bag sits next to you in the car as you drive to John’s apartment, your fingers drumming a beat on the steering wheel as you continue to process your conversation with Roxy. If things between you two are changing, then you figure it’s best to lean into it. You’re not going to be needlessly thick skulled about it, that’s more John’s thing anyway.

Or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

You park and walk up to his building, bag in hand. Catching sight of somebody opening the front door, you hurry after them and manage to grab the door before it closes. It’s a quick walk up to John’s apartment, marginally easier than scaling the fire escape ladder, and you find yourself in front of his apartment.

You knock before you lose your nerve, swallowing down the tight pressure in your chest as best you can.

John opens the door and looks comically surprised to see you. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you died, so I came over to confirm it. Damn you Egbert, ruining my happiness. I had a duel funeral planned for you and my toaster,” you ramble, taking stock of John’s appearance. He looks…well you’re not going there, but he is wearing sweats and appears a bit disheveled. That’s more your style than his, and it raises a warning flag in the back of your mind.

“I’m so sorry to have ruined what would have been a terrible event anyway. But I’m honored you hold me in the same esteem as your toaster,” John says sarcastically, and you raise your eyebrows.

“Dude, no, that toaster is worth way more.” You remember the bag in your hand and, in a feat of really smooth skill, throw it at his face rather than hand it to him like a normal person.

John sputters and catches it, stepping back automatically. He roots around in it and then looks up at you.

 “You got me Swedish fish?”

“Happy death day,” you say to a spot above his head.

He actually smiles a little at that, and you feel weirdly validated. “Well damn, I should die more often if it means you roll out the royal treatment.”

“Yeah. Well. Now that I know you’re not dead or in the process of becoming dead, I’ll go tell your friends who are extremely worried. Just by the way, you friends are worried, stop being a dick and answer them.”

John frowns. “I’m not talking to them right now.”

This is edging a little too close to actual-conversation territory for your comfort, so you start scooting away. “Well, that’s your issue. See you.”

“Wait,” John says, stepping after you. “Do you want to…I don’t know, watch a movie?”

You pause and give him a look. “Watch a movie or _watch a movie_?”

He sticks his tongue out at you in a display of real maturity.

You guess that answers the question.

“Yeah, I’m not doing anything.”

It’s out of your mouth before you can think about it. Why did you say that? Well, whatever, it’s not too big of a deal.

Damn, when did you start lying to yourself so much?

You walk into John’s apartment and head over to where he keeps his movies. It’s a crap shoot, but after a bit of shuffling you find something tolerable and hold it up.

“We’re watching this one.”

John, who has relocated to the couch after closing the door, gives you his puppy dog eyes. “Can’t I pick the movie since I’m sad?”

“You’re always sad to me. So, no.”

“Ouch,” John mutters, but lets you set it up anyway.

It feels oddly natural to sit beside him and criticize his movies, his terrible taste, and anything else you can think of.

He throws a Swedish fish at you for it, and you catch it in your mouth and smirk at his disappointed expression.

“Give that back,” he gripes, and scowls when you lean away from him. “Oh no you don’t, Strider.”

You hold the fish between your teeth and continue to lean back as he crawls towards you, amused despite yourself.

“You don’t even like Swedish fish!” John complains.

You wait until he’s practically on top of you before lowering your shades, making eye contact, and eating that disgusting little fish.

John gasps, outraged, and you laugh because it’s so ridiculous.

“You’re a jerk!”

“You threw it at me.”

John sputters, waving the hand that isn’t bracing himself. “Irrelevant!”

“Very relevant, actually.”

He gives you a hard look, like he can somehow chastise you through eye contact alone.

You take your shades off and set them on the table so you can meet his stare with your own apathetic gaze. You are not sorry. Not even a bit.

“Jerk,” John mutters again, and then leans down and kisses you.

It’s so casual that you almost don’t realize it, but the jolt of electricity down your spine certainly gets your attention. You kiss him back, you can’t help yourself, and he makes a pleased little noise that you chase with your tongue.

“You taste like Swedish fish,” you grumble, pulling away.

“Revenge,” John hisses, and then tries to kiss you again.

“No, Egbert, stop, that’s nasty,” you try to dodge, and he kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then goes for your neck.

“Knock it off— _ahh_ ,” your voice falters as he starts to work on your neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin and tongue licking the sting away.

“Revenge,” John whispers into your neck, then bites down on a spot that has you arching off the couch and keening.

“I thought,” you manage to force out, “you just wanted to watch a movie.”

John pulls back and has the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I did! But…”

You look at his sheepish little grin and apologetic little shrug. “I’m not buying it.”

“You never do!” John pouts, and then leans down and kisses you. Pleased when you don’t pull away again, he slips his tongue into your mouth and toys with yours until you give in.

It barely takes a minute before your arms are around his neck, keeping him tight against you as he nips at your lower lip until you whine.

He giggles and moves back to your neck, and you sigh happily as he kisses the fading mark he left during your date. It does remind you of that night though, and sends a weird squirming feeling through you that isn’t very pleasant.

You run your hands lightly up John’s back, feeling the muscles work as he shifts lower and starts kissing at your shirt collar. You should ask him why he’s cut off communication with his friends. And why he’s okay with you being here.  

It makes your heartbeat double, and apprehension starts threading its way through your muscles, drawing you up tight.

“Dirk?” John pulls back. “You got quiet. What’s up?”

“Why aren’t you speaking to Dave?” The words tumble out of your mouth in a mumbled rush, and you can see John struggle for a second to parse it out.

“Why am I—oh.”

He sits up, perches on your lower stomach, and crosses his arms.

Your hands fall off and land on his thighs. Your mind wildly spins about how gentle it is, but you force yourself to focus for a second. You leave your hands there.

“Can I ask you something?” John says suddenly, staring at your hands, and you nod mutely.

“What do you think of Dave’s internship?”

You blink, taken aback. “Um, it’s fine. Why?”

“It doesn’t bother you that he’s going into the movie industry?”

“No? Why should it?” You don’t understand where this conversation is going, and your apprehension has begun to bloom into anxiousness.

“Because,” John says coldly, “he’s going into an industry that pays shit unless you hit it big, and there’s a pretty slim chance of that! He’s going to be riding rough for years!”

You…don’t see how it’s connected. To distract you from the tension in your body, to start to rub small circles into John’s thighs with your thumbs. You watch him start to slump down, arms falling uncrossed into his lap.

“It’s not about that, though,” you say quietly. “It’s about what makes him happy. He loves what he’s doing, even the shitty, underpaid part of it. Isn’t that more important than him being stuck with something he doesn’t like? It would be toxic for him, eventually.”

“But…” John trails off, his voice dropping to match your volume.

“Is that why you’re mad at him?”

“I’m not mad at him. Or Rose. They just…they don’t get it. They keep telling me to stop taking these classes and focus on piano but I’m a senior, Dirk! I can’t just, stop taking classes and not graduate!”

His voice pitches up helplessly, and your eyes widen.

“I can’t make a living from playing piano! And I don’t want to! I just like it! Doing to for work will make it a job! It’ll ruin it.”

You don’t know how to handle this, you’re never the one who calms people down. You’re a living disaster, the last person anybody should go to for help or advice. But John is sitting on your lap, babbling frantically about his future, and you would rather shoot yourself in the foot than watch him cry.

Slowly, you sit up, letting John reposition himself in your lap. It’d be a rather sexual set up if his voice wasn’t rising towards hysteria.

Okay, think, what does he do when you’re a mess?

Your mind presents you several graphic images, and you mentally jerk away from them.

No, okay, not that. What else?

Gradually, like something rising from the surface of a lake, a memory bubbles up. It’s from the last movie night you had, when you were too exhausted to fight him and he touched your face far too tenderly.

It makes something in your chest light up, warm and bright.

Okay, good, go with that.

You carefully reach up, willing your hand not to shake, and catch his cheek in your palm.

He trails off, giving you a wide-eyed look as you run your thumb along his cheekbone, a mirror of what he did to you.

“It’s okay,” you say, feeling horribly nervous. You don’t know what you’re doing, but god dammit you’re going to try. It’s the least you owe him.

“Nobody can make you do anything,” you add when he doesn’t respond. “It’s your life. Be a doctor. Be a pianist. Be a prostitute, who cares? It’s your life.”

“A prostitute?” John mumbles, a hint of a smile curling around his lips.

“Eh, more like a five cent hooker, but we all start somewhere,” you say solemnly, and he lets out a surprised little laugh.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says, and then presses into your hand ever-so-slightly.

It makes your breathing stop, and for a moment you stare at each other.

You…should do something. Kiss him? Push him away? Your body isn’t listening to your mind as it flips through endless, frantic responses. But…it seems like John’s stuck too, so maybe it’s okay.

You end up leaving his apartment a little while later, mind reeling. He kisses you good bye and slaps your ass like everything is normal, but as you get into your car you notice your hands are shaking.

It’s…not a bad thing though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People care about you, Dirk. Stop sticking your head in the sand. 
> 
> Hope ya'll are enjoying this! Your comments are, as always, extremely appreciated :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey fam heads up: there is a short description of a panic attack in here, and if that's not your jam I encourage you to skim over it (it's a few paragraphs long)  
> Mental health comes first.

John starts talking to his friends again and Dave thanks you by surprising you with a new toaster when he comes home from work on Friday.

You berate him for not waiting for the allotted grieving period, and he gives you a long suffering sigh.  

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, bro. I thought you of all people knew that,” Dave chastises as you examine your new toaster. It’s got two slots for bread, thank god, and you hope this one lasts a lot longer.

“So are you going out this weekend?”

You look up, surprised. “I don’t know, why?”

Dave shrugs. “You usually go out every other weekend to hang with Roxy. Just wondering if this was one of them.”

You mull that over for a second, because Dave is right. By this time you’ve had your week of rest and routine dictates that you should be getting high strung in the next couple days, so you’re due for a session with John.

Except, you don’t feel high strung. You’ve been getting your work done, sleeping moderately well, and your thoughts haven’t wandered off more than usual. There’s still the ever-present tension in your spine, like you’re wound too tight, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Maybe,” you mumble, distracted, and Dave doesn’t push it.

He leaves you there in the kitchen, and you pull out your phone. You’re a sucker for routine, falling out of it frays your nerves to no end. You don’t particularly need to see John, but what if everything hits you this upcoming week?

You don’t think it will, but you still pull up his name on your phone.

You type out your usual message, but hesitate before hitting send. John’s voice rings through your mind, ‘ _we always do this on your terms!’_ and you start to edit your message.

It takes way too long for what you end up with, but you get there eventually.

‘ _Hey. Got any plans for tonight?’_

That’s a lot less pushy, and you feel a bit proud of yourself when you send it. You set your phone down and glance at your hands curiously. Normally such an open ended question would prompt every kind of negative physiological response your body could throw at you, but none of that is happening.

Fuck, maybe you’re coming down with something.

Your phone vibrates, and you see John’s usual line of bullshit and winky faces across your screen, but you also weed out that he is free tonight.

Ignoring the verbal garbage that he just spewed at you, you send him a proposal. It takes almost five minutes of typing, deleting, retyping, and repeating before you hack up a message that doesn’t make you want to curl up and die.

‘ _Are you up for some company?’_

You can’t believe it took you so long to get to that, and you groan quietly as you finally send it. Where is this coming from, you’re usually so much better at this.

_‘Ooo Dirk, is this your way of propositioning me?’_ Pops up on your screen, and you grit your teeth.

“God dammit, you little shit, I’m trying here,” you hiss at your phone.

_‘Yes or no, Egbert.’_

His response takes no time, and you’re a bit relieved when he agrees.

You walk over to Dave’s room and rap your knuckles on his door. “I am going out tonight. Be good while I’m gone.”

There’s a muted affirmative, and you head into your room to put on something decent. You tell yourself you’re not dressing up for him, you just need to stop wearing ratty sweats constantly.

You end up in jeans and a t-shirt, and you waste several minutes fiddling with your hair. Not that it matters, John will just mess it up, but you’ll be damned if you go outside without it looking pristine.

Eventually you leave, beginning your familiar walk to John’s apartment. On your way there, you feel an odd sense of discomfort crawl up your spine. The walk feels different, almost surreal, like you’re dreaming during the day time.

You can’t put your finger on what feels so off to you until you’re almost there. When you realize it you stop short, mind whirling. It feels different because you feel different. You’re not dragging your rotting mind here in desperation for relief, you’re not shaky, you’re not hyperventilating.

You’re walking to John’s apartment and nothing is wrong with you.

You feel a little nauseous at the realization that you have come to associate those feelings with normal, to the point where being out here and not feeling like road kill makes you uncomfortable.

The implications are dragging those feelings up though, so you push it away and keep walking. Routine is safe, and you’re not thinking about this.

John doesn’t let you in the front door, merely recites his Big Bad Wolf routine at you like it’s endearing and not extremely obnoxious.

You make the climb up the fire escape, sliding John’s window open and dropping into his living room. It’s exceptionally easier to do when you have full control over yourself, and that makes you even more determined to fix his locks.

“Dirk!” John fixes a look of surprise on his face, like he wasn’t just taunting you through the intercom. “Have they told you about the invention of front doors? I know you’re old, and it’s a young people’s technology, but you should really try them.”

“Have they told you about the correlation between break-ins and shitty locks? Because those are some numbers you should look at.”

“Hmm, no, I’m pretty sure that’s fake!”

You rub the bridge of your nose and remember who it is you’re talking to. “Right. Well excuse me while I burgle your residence. Any family jewels I should know of?”

“Well,” John begins, an impish grin spreading across his face.

“No. Never mind. You’re right, nobody in their right mind would break-in here. You’re enough of a repellant by yourself,” you ramble, holding up your hands to cut off whatever lewd comment John was about to make.

“Rude!” John admonishes, looking wounded. When you don’t react, he walks over and tugs at the front of your shirt.

“Soooo, I have an idea.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you deadpan, and he swats you.

“Hush! It’s something new I want to try.” He looks eager, like a child on Christmas, and you’re already forming a rejection in your mind because that look never leads to anything good.

However, his hands are moving from the front of your shirt towards your lower back, pulling you up against him and effectively derailing your train of thought.

“You’ll like it,” John sings, his lips brushing the side of your neck in a display of extremely unfair war tactics.

You’re trying to tell him what you think of that, you really are, but he’s got his teeth on you now and you’re more focused on not making any embarrassing noises. His hands wander to your ass, squeezing playfully, and you have to admit that you’re a weak man.

“Prooomise,” John purrs, and then licks a stripe up the side of your throat.

You shudder, the cold air magnified on your throat and making your skin prickle. “What, uh, do you have in mind?”

You should get some serious recognition for saying that without letting your voice shake. Some sort of award. A ‘You Spoke A Full Sentence While John Egbert Is Trying To Eat You Alive’ award.

He presses his lips to the corner of your jaw, working them over to your mouth all too slowly. When he finally gets there, you suck in a short gasp of air.

John’s kiss is sweet and full of intention, and it’s making your head spin. He’s still got his hands on your ass, which isn’t helping, and when he licks at the seam of your lips you part them without a fight. He dives in, tasting and claiming every inch of your mouth, and you groan into it.

When he pulls back to let you breathe you’ve come to the conclusion that anything that’ll make you feel like that is a good thing.

“Okay,” you manage to say, and John’s grin turns devious.

“Really? Just like that? What happened to making me fight for it?” John teases, sliding his hands up the back of your shirt and scratching along your spine.

You arch towards him, hissing at the prickle of pain. “I ain’t playing hard to get here, Egbert. Literally doing the opposite.” So give me whatever it is you’re planning, you think to yourself with no small amount of trepidation.

John’s hands keep moving over your body, making no attempt to start anything you aren’t intimately familiar with. He attacks your neck again and you shakily curse him for all the marks you know will show up later.

He sucks another one near your clavicle and you whine, tangling your fingers in his hair to hold him there. Your body is starting to ache deliciously, and you’re getting impatient.

“John,” you start, only to be cut off when he shoves you, your back hitting a wall. When did you start moving backwards? Then his thigh is forcing itself between your legs, and you stop worrying.

“Fuck,” you hiss, trying to stop yourself from immediately grinding down on him like some desperate teenager.

“You were saying something, sweetpea?” John asks pleasantly, pushing the hem of your shirt up and off you.

Your glasses get caught in it and you struggle for a second before just yanking the entire thing off and tossing your shirt and glasses in a nearby chair.

“When are you going to unveil this mysterious plan of yours?” you gripe, like this isn’t already going straight to your dick.

John just tuts at you. “Be good now, I’m getting there.”

You pinch your lips together and he giggles, fucking _giggles_ , at you. His hands dance along your chest, long fingers mapping their way along your muscles and pausing intermittently at your nipples. He’s seriously taking his time tonight, and you almost regret not showing up feeling like road kill so he’d get right to it.

“Pay attention, pumpkin,” John says suddenly, pinching one of your nipples and making you gasp. “Stop hiding in that thick skull of yours.”

“I’m the one with a—?” you begin incredulously, and then John slaps a hand over your nose and mouth. Breathing becomes strained, not impossible, but it shuts you up immediately. You’re equal parts aroused and nervous, and you know your eyes are the size of dinner plates as John looks you over with obvious interest.

“If you keep back talking me I’m putting you in time-out,” he says, completely serious, and you stare.

“There you go, much better,” he beams at you, and the praise sends a shiver through your body. He doesn’t usually indulge you in breath play, and it’s doing weird things to your body. Then his hand drops, and you’re left dizzy from the abruptness of it all.

John presses his thigh up into your cock, smirking when as you close your eyes and grip his shoulders, letting him rub against you. Your pants are getting uncomfortable, and you really hope he drags you off to his bedroom soon.

“Clementine,” John calls, and your eyes snap open. “You can talk, just don’t sass me.”

“Okay,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

“Shh, no, you’re doing great,” John says as he pets your chest and sides, rubbing and scratching gently until you’re squirming and grinding down mindlessly on his thigh. “Want to see my surprise?”

You nod, still not entirely sure you trust yourself to speak. But when John smiles at you it alleviates any uncertainty. “Yeah, please.”

He pulls away from you and grabs your wrist, pulling your towards his bedroom.

Oh, hell yes, finally.

You follow without a complaint, though with John’s wandering hands and your more than eager responses, it takes a little while to transverse the five feet to John’s bedroom.

When you both finally stumble in John’s shirt is gone and you’re a panting mess. You tear your eyes away from him just long enough to notice that he’s already pulled out what he wants to use on you for tonight.

You see the usual blindfold in the pile he’s laid out, and it makes your dick twitch, though you spot a new addition that gives you pause.

“Headphones?” You look back at him, and he grins.

“Yeah, among other things,” he replies cheekily. “Now get on the bed and spread out.”

You go, sinking into the familiar sheets and lazily stretching out. You know John likes a show, and you’re more than adapt at giving one. You see him watching and you give him a little smirk of your own, which seems to snap him out of it.

“Aren’t you lovely,” he says as he climbs after you, and you shy away at the comment, despite how it makes your heart pound. “You’re going to look so delicious once I tie you up. You’re my dessert, honeydew.”

You can feel your face burning and you fix your gaze to the right as John hovers over you, caging you in with his body. Words don’t seem to be working right now, but he doesn’t press it.

When he starts slowly grinding his hips down into yours you seize on it with relief, arching up to meet him. You try to touch him, but John pins your wrists above you and shakes his head.

“Ah, ah, no you don’t.”

He picks up a long piece of rope from the small pile beside you. You gave him that after he tried to use garden twine to tie you up and it rubbed your wrists raw. This rope is smooth, soft, and fantastic for knots.

John sees you looking at it and winks before starting to loop it around his headboard and your wrists.

You lie still, letting him fasten your arms above your head. It’s soothing, in an odd way, despite how badly your body is screaming for his touch. Every shift of his cock against yours is sending fire through you, and when he tightens the knot above your head you moan quietly.

“Mmm, that’s it pumpkin,” John encourages, petting your hair.

You bite down on your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth until John finishes with the rope. He spots what you’re doing and leans down, and kisses your lip free from your teeth. He runs his tongue along it, and you consider begging for any sense of relief.

“Almost there, stay still,” John says, reaching for the blindfold.

You let it slip over your eyes, and the darkness is comforting as you hear and feel him shift around to get the knot right. You don’t think you’ve ever been this lax when he tried to do this previously, and you mentally lecture your past self on what he missed out on.

Hands and lips are suddenly on your chest, worshiping your body with murmurs about how good you’re being, how well behaved you are, and you redouble your lecturing because _god fuck yes_.

A huff of laughter brushes over your sternum and you realize you said it aloud.

“Okay, headphones now. Remember I can hear you, even if you can’t hear me,” John says, and you wonder what he’s going to play. You hope it’s music, not just some sort of noise canceling deal. You can think of a few songs you’d love to get fucked to, and it’s making your blood run hot.

He settles them over your ears, adjusting them until they’re comfortable, and you feel an odd pang in your chest at the care.

John kisses you, and then presses something on the headphones you assume is the power button.

Yeah, okay, they’re noise cancelling, but then a sound starts up.

At first you don’t understand what it is, and you’re stuck in the darkness trying to parse it out for a moment. Then John’s hands are on you, and you jerk. You…had no idea he was that close to you.

John’s hands are an anchor, and in the crushing darkness you cling to it with an urgency you don’t understand.

Fuck, what is that noise?

His hands slide down to your hips and finally unbutton your pants, pulling them and your underwear down. He fidgets for a second with your shoes, then everything is off.

It’s…not the relief you were hoping for. You feel vulnerable, tight, like your skin is too small, and you shift on the covers. They feel soft, warm, and you focus on that.

_What the_ _fuck is that noise_?

John’s back, thank god, and you think you gasp aloud as he starts touching you again. Tongue, this time, sweeping over your nipple and keeping you centered. Hands, calloused, warm, large, with slim pianist fingers tapping their way down to your hip bones.

He bites, and you groan at the sharp pain. It’s good, you need more, you need to be surrounded by him right now or you think you might drift off into something terrible.

John’s hands, your only clue where he is, move lower and brush along your cock. It’s too gentle, not enough by a long shot, and your breathing catches in your throat.

Everything feels small, like the blindfold around your eyes is actually around your body, and that fucking terrible noise continues to burn out your senses.

Breathe, calm down, you’re in John’s room. That’s John. He’s here, he’s touching you, you’re fine.

Except, now he’s not touching you.

You stiffen, every nerve in your body screaming out, and you _can’t fucking feel him._

Bands in your chest tighten, everything is tight, and you can’t breathe.

You try, you try really damn hard to remember how to breathe. But everything is dark and the noise is rushing in your head and you can’t feel John.

Your head is swimming and panic is setting in.

He left, John left, you’re alone and he’s gone and you have no idea what’s happening.

Nothing is anchoring you here, even the covers on your back don’t feel real, and you _need to get this off oh my god get it off get it off getitoffstopstopstopstop—!_

The headphones are ripped off and sound comes crashing down around you. You’re twisting around, you dimly realize, and hands are back on you.

“Dirk! Dirk, I’m here, I’m sorry!”

You can’t fucking understand what’s happening, it’s too tight, _you can’t breathe—_

Your hands are released, the blindfold is tugged off, and your wide, wild eyes find John. He’s talking, fast and high, hands hovering over you like he wants to touch but isn’t sure how.

You choke on air and sit up, scrambling back towards the headboard so you can press into something solid. Your heart is trying to beat its’ way out of your chest and you’re shaking, hard.

“Dirk, oh god, I’m so sorry, I forgot to get lube, I was only gone for a minute I thought you’d be okay, fuck, I’m so sorry,” John babbles, hands up like he’s trying to sooth a frightened animal. “Dirk, clementine, look at me, please, can I touch you?”

You don’t understand a single fucking thing he’s saying. He’s moving closer, and you’re both watching it happen like you expect a bomb to go off any second.

His fingers brush the arm you have wrapped around your legs, and you flinch. He instantly pulls away, but your hand lunges after his, catching his wrist.

“S’okay,” you mumble, starting to piece together where you are. The headboard on your back is cold and unfriendly, not what you want.

John scoots over to you and, after a brief hesitation, wraps his arms around you.

The first thing you recognize is warmth, skin on skin contact warmth, and you take your first real breath. Clarity floods you, and you’re hit by a wall of shame.

You lost your shit.

You lost your shit because John went away for one god damn minute.

And like a child, you couldn’t handle it.

John’s rubbing your back, talking to you again, but you can’t hear over your own thoughts.

You curl up, folding your limbs in and tucking them away until you’re as small as you can make yourself.

“’m a fuckin’ idiot,” you say into your arms, mortified.

“What?” John says quickly, latching onto the first thing you’ve said so far. “What was that?”

You just shake your head. You can’t believe that happened. You can’t believe it.

“Dirk,” John tries again, but you’re unresponsive. He shifts around for a second, and you hear him picking something up off his bedside table. Then he’s repositioning you, pulling you into his lap and wrapping the covers around you.

You lie there like that, drowning quietly and wondering how you can possible leave without triggering another freak out. Above you, you hear John tapping at something in his hand. It’s rhythmic, something to fixate on, and you focus on it.

“Clementine,” John says quietly after a while. “I’m going to go into the bathroom for a second. Are you okay to be left for a minute?”

Disgust with yourself wells up, and you uncurl your body and roll off of John. He’s watching you like you’re about to break, and you’ve never been so ashamed.

“M’fine,” you say monotonously.

He squints at you, like he doesn’t quite believe you. But he goes, thank god, and you sit up in bed. Beside you is his phone, you guess that explains the tapping, and you see the screen light up with Dave’s name.

You look away and stare at your hands, which have finally stopped shaking. You feel sick with yourself. He was trying to do something nice and you couldn’t handle it.

“Dirk.”

You startle as John sits beside you, and then silently berate yourself.

“Dirk, come here,” John insists, and you think you’re going to lose it again if he keeps talking to you so gently.

You follow him, letting him lead you out of bed and into the bathroom. You feel like you’re on autopilot now, completely worn out from your little episode. The bathroom feels warm and steamy, and when you finally take stock of your surroundings you see it’s because John’s drawn a bath.

That pang in your chest is back, like you swallowed broken glass, and it draws you out of yourself. “What’s this?”

“A bath,” John says confidently, though the way he’s twisting his hands together betrays him. “Get in, or do you want bubbles?”

“What?”

“I don’t have a lot of bath products like you do, but I figured the base model is still the same,” John says like you’re actually a part of his conversation and not wildly confused.

You open your mouth to ask why, and then weariness hits you all over again. A bath sounds fucking amazing, and you’re too damn tired to ask why.

So you get in, sink down until the water is level with your chin, and close your eyes. You sit there for a moment, the hot water leeching the stress from your body, and then you crack open your eyes and see John still standing there in his jeans.

“You coming in or what?”

He startles at your voice, and then nods. He sheds his clothes and steps in after you. It takes some arranging, but John’s tub is a bit larger than average so you both fit. He’s behind you, and you’re nestled in between his legs with your head resting on his shoulder.

You both sit there like that for a while, peaceful silence surrounding you as water drips idly from the faucet. Your pulse has slowed and your entire body doesn’t feel like a live wire anymore. You breathe, slow and deep.

John is being silent, not moving save to run his fingers through your hair occasionally.

When he does it again, you sigh happily and his hand stills.

“Dirk?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m so sorry.”

You blink your eyes open, confusion lethargically moving through you. “What? Why?”

John makes a miserable noise that draws you out of the comfortable stupor you’d been slipping into. “I fucked up so badly, I’m sorry. We should’ve talked about this beforehand. I’m sorry, clementine.”

“I’m the one who couldn’t handle five seconds by myself,” you protest, twisting around to look at him. “It’s okay, sorry I flipped out.”

The words are sticking in your throat, embarrassment threatening to overwhelm you again, but you’re determined to get this out.

John shakes his head and threads his fingers through your hair, petting and scratching on automatic. “I should’ve paid more attention.”

You frown, the hand in your hair making it hard to think. “Can we, maybe, pretend that didn’t happen?”

John makes a funny noise. “Right, because not talking about shit always works out well.”

You shrug, sinking lower into the water. “One question, though. What the fuck were you playing?”

“Oh, um, it was static. I read somewhere that it was a good way to relax?”

Static.

Fuck, that explains it.

You laugh, except you’re too low in the water and end up coughing as water gets in your mouth. John giggles at you, then immediately looks guilty about it.

“Hmm, guess this means you owe me,” you say idly, smiling up at the ceiling.

“Fuck, of course you’d turn it around like that,” John grumbles. “I’m already really sorry!”

“Nah, I demand payment.”

“Oh, do you, chickpea?” John’s arms slip around you and hug you tight. “What is your price?”

You didn’t really have an idea, but the pet name brings an idea up. “I want a massage.”

“You do?” John sounds a little surprised you’re asking for something reasonable.

“Mhm. You owe me one massage,” you decide aloud, settling more comfortably against John’s chest.

“Guess I have no choice,” John sighs, like it’s the biggest inconvenience.

Eventually you both get out of the bath, slowly and with great reluctance on your part. But the promise of a massage has peaked your interest, so you allow John to towel you off. He finds lotion in his cupboard and takes you back to bed.

The headphones are unceremoniously tossed away, and it makes you snicker. You’re feeling a bit caviler for someone who just had a full blown panic attack.

You lie down on your stomach, tucking your arms under your cheek and sighing as you feel John settle right below your ass.

He pours some of the lotion right onto your skin, and you yelp. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

“Hehe, oh, sorry,” John says playfully, and you roll your eyes.

He starts to work it into your back, spreading it up to your shoulders and then kneading his fingers back down to your tail bone. His fingers find the tension held along you spine and he digs in mercilessly.

You groan, the pain and relief mixing oddly in your brain. You feel him push his thumbs up the column of your spine, chasing away the tension and then spreading out to your shoulders.

He complains lightly the entire time about his hands cramping, and you mumble for him to shut it.

It feels incredible, and it doesn’t take long before you’re making a whole host of eager noises. You’d be a little more self-conscious if it wasn’t so damn nice, and John has stopped bitching so you’re really pleased.

His fingers find your neck, soothing out the knots and rubbing along the sides.

“Mngfffuck,” you say intelligently, and he leans down and kisses right at the base of your head. It sends a shiver through you, tingly and warm.

“You sound wonderful, pumpkin,” John comments quietly as you make a particularly loud noise. “All relaxed and compliant. Should’ve done this ages ago.”

“Mnn?” You’re not really listening, just barely aware of the feeling of something ballooning in your chest at his words. His hands are working on your upper back, and you guess being hunched over small parts all day really did a number on you because he stays there for a while.

You whine, muffled and happy, as something tight in your back releases. You can feel your shoulders fold forwards a little further, and it’s bliss.

“That’s it, sweetpea,” John encourages, and you’re floating. He takes his hands away briefly, and then he’s coaxing you onto your back.

You roll over, lax and sleepy. Your body feels warm and soft, all your sharp edges rubbed away for the time being. There’s a nice ache in your core, it feels familiar, and it doubles when John kisses you.

You can barely lift your arms, but you manage to drape them over his shoulders as he kisses you. It’s lazy and slow, fuzzing out your mind and gently working you into a faraway place. It’s delicious, and you chase the feeling.

“Perfect,” John breathes against your wet lips, and you feel like starlight. His hands are smoothing over the stress you’ve built up, petting your stomach and thighs.

You’re mumbling against his lips, incoherent sentences and soft, hesitant desires. You want him, you have no idea how to ask but you’re trying. He’s still praising you, sweet words that burn and hurt but make you feel so, so good. You’re asking, in halting words and cut off whines, for more. You just hope he understands.

You finally hear something being uncapped, and obediently spread your legs when John presses your thighs open. His fingers press against your entrance, unhurried and gentle. It feels amazing, and you mindlessly moan at the sensation. It’s hitting every good feeling you need, and you crave more of it.

Everything feels incredible, and when he pushes two fingers into you your body sings.

“Oh,” you pant, staring sightlessly upwards. “ _Oh_.”

“That’s is, clementine,” John purrs, watching you with an intensity that makes your blood run hot. “You deserve to be pampered. You deserve to feel good. Does it feel good? Do you like my fingers in you?”

You know you don’t have to answer, but you keen loudly as he presses them in deeper. They’re long, perfect, touching something deep in you that makes you see white.

“Good, so good,” John says over and over again, working you closer to the edge.

You’re dimly aware of a preference forming in your mind, and when it finally takes shape you try and voice it.

“John,” you gasp, clinging to him. “Mnnhh, oh, god, John, hang on…!”

He stops, of course he does, and it causes something in your chest to hurt. “What is it, pumpkin?”

You struggle with words for a second and then just give up.

“Fuck me, please,” you babble, your voice high and needy. “Please, John, I need…”

He groans, low, like you hurt him. “God, Dirk, yes.”

Everything after that is a blur. He slicks up, slides into you, and you see the universe. It’s hot and overwhelming, but he’s there. You keep your arms wrapped around his shoulders and he folds you under him, keeping you safe.

Your head falls back and you let a stream of senseless pleas and noises fall from your lips. He echoes them, moaning and gasping with every movement.

He finishes in you, and it doesn’t so much as push you over the edge as throw you.

When you come back from wherever you went, he’s got you cleaned up and tucked in bed, nestled against him.

“There you are,” he says, delighted when you blink at him. “Hello, clementine.”

“’lo,” you rasp, and then flush.

He teases you, but it’s gentle and makes your insides twist pleasantly.

It’s so different, everything about this is odd and unfamiliar, but you still feel intimately acquainted with it.

You spend the night, he doesn’t have to offer, and you sleep easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn this chapter ran away with me haha
> 
> I love the comments ya'll have been leaving! It's so sweet, thank you!!! 
> 
> We're coming to the end of our story, sadly. I have a bit more planned and then I'll finally stop torturing Dirk. Poor boy needs some rest.


	8. Chapter 8

You get home early Saturday morning, a borrowed scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. It’s getting a little brisk out anyway, so you don’t feel too out of place in it.

When you open the door to your apartment you’re surprised to hear the television on. You check your watch. It’s nine in the morning, Dave shouldn’t be up yet.

You shut the door and kick off your shoes, keeping the scarf on for now. “Dave? You up?”

Dave’s head appears over the back of the couch and he yawns. “Yeah, hey. Breakfast?”

“Sure,” you say, still a little surprised to see him. “We can go out if you want.”

“Sounds good.”

You’re walking to your room when something in your mind clicks. It’s so startling that you stop mid-step, turning around to look at Dave who’s settled back down on the couch. There’s no way…but certain things aren’t adding up.

“Hey,” you begin, and he looks over at you. “Uh, did John text you last night?”

Dave’s face settles into a neutral expression and it makes the back of your neck prickle. “Yeah.”

You want to brush it off, because that in of itself isn’t unusual. But the fact that John _knew_ to draw a bath was just so…

“Did,” you start, then cut off as you struggle for the words. You’re floundering, you know you are. There’s no god damn way John Egbert knew how to do that by himself.

“Was it about…uh…”

Dave raises his eyebrows, face still uncomfortably blank. “It’s cool, Bro.”

“What is?” your voice doesn’t sound right, and whatever peaceful feeling you had from last night is being replaced by growing tension in your chest. God dammit, and you just got rid of it.

Dave sighs and sits up, rubbing his face with his hands. “Don’t freak out, it’s all good. I’m not, like, going to pull a villain monologue on you.”

“ _You know?”_

Yeah your voice sounds pretty strangled, god dammit.

Dave laughs, and it makes you jump. It’s muffled around his hands, and he looks immediately apologetic. “Fuck, sorry, but Dirk come on.”

“What?”

“You’re not that slick.”

“ _What?_ ”

This is news to you, and you guess by your deer-in-headlights impression Dave is realizing this too.

“Breakfast?” he offers again, and you’re reeling.

You feel like somebody has pulled the rug out from under you in all aspects of your life. John is being nice and Dave is talking about something you’ve been hiding for a year like it’s common news. You half expect Hal to walk in and proclaim he doesn’t despise you completely.

Except, shit, he willingly hung out with you that one time.

“Everybody has lost their shit,” you mumble, your thoughts whirling.

Dave snorts. “Bro, don’t do that. Listen, do you want to get pancakes? Because I want pancakes.”

“But—”

“We can talk about it too.”

“Okay. Pancakes. Right.”

You go through the motions, changing clothes, keeping the scarf, and driving the two of you to IHOP like you’re not reevaluating everything you thought you knew.

You settle in a plastic booth, order coffee and a stack of pancakes on autopilot, and twitch when Dave kicks you under the table.

“I know you need a user manual for this, but chill,” Dave says, not unkindly, and you try.

“Why is everybody suddenly changing on me? I fuckin’ swear if Roxy calls to tell me she’s moving to a nunnery I will _flip_ ,” you mutter, and Dave grins.

“It’s not sudden, dude. You’re just now noticing it,” Dave says, taking a sip of his coffee. He perks up when pancakes are delivered, and sets about drowning them in syrup.

“God, your breakfast habits are repulsive,” you say wearily.

“Mmf,” Dave counters, mouth full.

You’re not too stressed to eat, which is a pretty good sign, but you do want to know exactly how much Dave knows about this.

“Does anybody else know?”

Dave looks up. “I haven’t said anything. I think Hal might, but he’s weird like that.”

“What, uh, do you know exactly?”

Dave sets his fork down in the syrup pool that used to hold pancakes. “I mean, kind of everything?”

You cough into your coffee cup and give him an incredulous look.

“John called me the first time it happened, he felt really guilty,” Dave says in a rush. “And at first I was mad, because I thought you were slipping back. And with my best bro, no less. But then it wasn’t just one day. It became days, and then weeks, and suddenly it’s been a year. And you’re…better. You aren’t how you used to be and I’m going to be real with you bro, that was a huge relief.”

Your mouth twists at the mention of your old, shameful habits.

“Anyway,” Dave continues, “it wasn’t rocket science. John wouldn’t be around to hang whenever you were supposedly at Roxy’s. You’d disappear whenever you knew I’d be busy. I mean, Dirk, come on, the morning after the movie night with John I found your shades in the living room before I went to work.”

You flush, staring avidly at your pancakes. You’d forgotten you’d left those out there.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “You say you don’t care, but you got kind of mad about the dinner thing.”

Dave scowls. “Well, yeah. I knew that your thing with John wasn’t romantic. I figured he was jerking you around and it pissed me off. I didn’t want another…uh…I just didn’t want you to get hurt I guess.”

Dave dissolves into mumbling and you both are now studiously avoiding eye contact.

“So, uh, last night?” you hedge, and Dave seizes on it quickly.

“Yeah, John texted me. He said he fucked up with something and you were freaking out. I just told him you take absurdly long showers or baths when you’re upset and then he just stopped texting.”

This is all pretty overwhelming. Your chest hurts but it’s in a nice way for once, the suffocating feeling suddenly soft and warm rather than vice-like.

“Are you okay? I didn’t ask what happened, I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I’m cool.”

You both toy with your food for a bit, and you accept a refill on your coffee when the waitress reappears. It’s shocking that Dave knew all this time, but it’s also a massive relief.

You’re absolutely going to let John have it for giving you away from day one, however. That little fucker will pay.

“I actually have a question for you,” Dave says slowly, and you look up.

“I know it was just, you know, coping. But what is it now?”

You frown and consider for a minute, wanting to be honest about this. “I’m not sure. It’s something, I can’t pretend it isn’t.”

“Okay, that’s cool.”

“Is it?”

Dave grins a little. “Yeah man, it’s cool. John is arguably less obnoxious now that he has another person to annoy.”

You groan, shaking your head. “That kid, I swear to god.”

Dave nods solemnly.

You pay for the meal and the two of you leave, the atmosphere light and buoyant. You both tease and joke on the way back, banter coming quick and easy. Nothing between the two of you has changed, despite it all, but Dave does give you a quick one-armed hug in the living room before absconding.

It sort of puts a lot of things in perspective, especially now that you know you’ve been thoroughly duped by your younger brother and his best friend. Into getting healthy coping habits. Damn the both of them.

A smile is fighting its way across your face as you sit down on your bed and text John.

_‘So you ratted me out from day one, huh? Can’t trust you with anything, man.’_

It doesn’t take long for him to respond, but then again it never does. You mull it over in your mind for a second and then finally read the text.

_‘I’m going to kill Dave! He swore he wouldn’t tell you!_ ’

_‘Dude, I found out on my own.’_

_‘Oh. Well in that case, jeeeez Dirk took you long enough!’_

You roll your eyes and type out some snarky response, then hesitate over the send button. He’s an obnoxious shit, and you’re fully aware of it, but he’s also sort of your obnoxious shit. And you kind of want to see if he’s up to anything later in the week.

A voice in the back of your head tells you to stop being so scared of change, and it sounds a lot like Roxy.

You delete your message and try again.

_‘Dinner?’_

You regret every decision in your life immediately when John sends you a barrage of ‘ _Oooo Mr. Strider, oooo!’_

_‘You know what? Never mind. I’m taking myself out to dinner. Get some actual, decent, mature company for once.’_

_‘I’m mature!!!’_ John texts back, and you can hear the whine in his voice.

You smirk and shoot him another message.

_‘Prove it. Dinner, Monday night at seven.’_

He agrees, and it makes your heart feel funny.

God damn this boy, he’s probably given you some sort of cardiac condition that’ll lead to your early death.

You stop responding to him when he starts sending you “mature messages” with things like _‘briefcase, taxes, student loans’_ riddled throughout.

You spend the weekend getting things done. You finally vacuum, much to Dave’s joy, and try out the new toaster while loudly lamenting the loss of your old one.

You wrap up another commission, and then drag Dave with you to the post office to send off the multiple boxes that have accumulated over the past week.

It’s easy to keep busy, surprisingly so, and you don’t let your nerves get to you until Monday evening.

“What do I wear,” you ask Roxy desperately, cradling the phone between your shoulder and ear.

“Dirk, D-Stri, breathe with me bb,” Roxy coaxes, and you whine. “Listen, he’s seen you in a full down swing. You could show up in a garbage bag and he’d be happy.”

“Roxy!”

“Lmfao, I’m messing with you. Hal says you should go naked.”

“ _Roxy!_ ”

She laughs, delighted, and you groan.

“Okay, okay! Real talk. You still have that cute, kinda tight collared shirt?”

“The blue one?”

“Yeah! Wear that. And maybe some dark jeans.”

You rummage through your closet and unearth the shirt she mentioned. It’s navy blue and rather nice, you guess it’ll work. You also pick out a pair of dark grey jeans and then spend way too long staring at shoes.

“Diiiiirk,” Roxy croons, interrupting you monologue on different shades of black.

“What?”

“You’re so cute!”

“I am not—”

“So adorable! Oh my godddd, listen to you! I’m dyin’ over here,” Roxy squeals.

“I’m hanging up.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Then call me afterwards!” Roxy demands, and then pauses at the muted voice in the background. “Oh, haha right, call me the morning after.”

You do hang up after that.

You just finish getting ready when the doorbell rings, and you walk out to see Dave has answered it.

“Hi, Dirk!” John is beaming at you, another bouquet of sunflowers held out.  

It’s giving you a weird sense of déjà vu, but Dave doesn’t look as murderous this time so that helps.

You take the flowers and try not to preen too much as John’s eyes rake over your body appraisingly. Roxy was right about the shirt, you fill it out pretty nicely.

“Dude,” Dave sputters, “quit checking out my brother’s ass in front of me.”

You grin into the flowers and set them in the sink, rearranging your expression back to neutral before turning around.

“Yeah, John. I’m not just a piece of meat.”

“Terribly sorry, dearest,” John says, clapping a hand to his heart. “I would never disrespect such a fine gentleman. We must preserve your modesty, for the sake of your dowry.”

You lift a hand to your face, covering your mouth and giggling. “Oh, you. Better be careful, or my father will be out here with a shotgun.”

“Ugh, gross,” Dave mutters.

Taking that as your cue, your slip on your shoes and head out with John, ignoring Dave as he calls after you to be home at a reasonable hour.

“So,” John drawls, taking your hand in his on the way down the stairs. “I have two ideas.”

“Oh boy,” you say, like the weight of his hand in yours isn’t flaring up your new heart condition.

“Yes. The first is we have dinner, I take you out for ice cream, and then kiss you goodbye on the cheek on your front porch.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“The second is I take you out to dinner, and we use these.” John reaches into his pocket and fishes out a plastic baggy. Inside are half a dozen very, very realistic fake cockroaches.

You look from the baggy to his face and raise an eyebrow.

“You do realize you just proved that you can’t be mature, right.”

“I don’t give a damn. Are you in?”

You look back at the baggy.

“Hell yes.”

You both end up fleeing the restaurant in the middle of the pandemonium, John laughing too hard to run properly as the wait-staff chase the two of you out the door.

The two of you half run, half stumble down the street, laughing as a waiter screeches after you that you’re never allowed back.

“O-oh my god,” John wheezes, doubling over once you’ve gotten a few blocks away.

Your shoulders are shaking from laughter, and you take your shades off to wipe a tear away. “Too bad, that was a nice place.”

That only makes John laugh harder, and you join in despite yourself. The two of you end up sitting on the curb, giggling helplessly.

“I lost it after that third lady,” John snickers once he regains his breath.

“Oh man, the one with the hat?”

“Yeah, Jesus, the _noise_ that came out of her mouth.”

A snort of laughter leaves you as you remember it. “What about her date? I’ve never seen a middle aged man move that fast in my life.”

John giggles and leans into you. “Damn, that was the best date ever.”

Your face warms up at the contact, but you’re still on the adrenalin rush of your cockroach escapade so you manage to ride the high and put an arm around his shoulders.

“Too bad we can’t go back, that was the first place we went on our not-date,” you say wistfully.

“Oh yeah,” John laughs. “I spent ages looking for it. All my hard work, gone.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I thought you spent five minutes on yelp.”

John gives you a sneaky grin. “I lied. I actually spent all day wandering around looking for some place to properly woo you.”

“ _Woo me?_ ” you choke out, trying not to burst into laughter again.

He does laugh though, and gives you a fond look. “Yeah. Did it work?”

“Must have, since I’m here now.”

John looks thoroughly pleased, and it sends warmth through you.

“You know,” you say slowly, “the night is still young. And we have one more cockroach.”

John’s face lights up. “What are you thinking?”

You grin. “Still up for ice cream?”

Afterwards, the two of you sit in the park with your free ice creams, giggling to each other and only feeling a tiny bit guilty about startling the ice cream parlor kid so badly.

John takes you home, kisses you by the front door, and promises a date where the two of you make it to the second course without a mishap.

You look him dead in the eye and ask him what sort of fun that would be, and John looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers, and then kisses you senseless.

By the time you stumble into your apartment, you’re sporting a stupid little grin and plans for another date this Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end!
> 
> Unless you've read my writing before and know I love writing epilogues ;) 
> 
> As always, I appreciate all the comments ya'll have given me! Please let me know how you like this and the upcoming bonus chapter!


	9. Epilogue - John's POV

You are so excited that you can’t keep still, and you’re bouncing around the elevator up to Dirk’s apartment. It’s probably dangerous to do that since it only just got fixed, but you’re excited dammit!

You’ve been dating your doofus of a boyfriend for almost six months officially, not counting your shenanigans beforehand. Not that you didn’t appreciate those shenanigans! Or any other shenanigans since.

A grin unfurls over your face as you think about that.

The elevator dings, and you snap out of it. Time to focus!

You walk to Dirk and Dave’s apartment and knock, beaming when Dirk opens the door.

“Hi, Dirk!”

“John,” he greets, only a slight inflection in his voice giving away that he’s happy to see you.

You barge right on in, needing no more invitation than that. He makes that cute, annoyed little noise under his breath at you before closing the door.

“What’s with the sudden demand to come over? I know I’m irresistible, but damn dude, don’t be so needy,” Dirk says, and you laugh.

“Oh, hush, like you’re doing anything important at 2PM on a Tuesday.”

“I work,” he says, hint of condescension in his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“It got cancelled,” you lie easily. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s spring of your final semester and you’re acing all your classes. You can miss one day! You also have your plans sorted out for after you graduate. Dirk casually brought up that Roxy works in a research based company and could always use more hands. He mentioned, with forced indifference, that you could always try that before med school. You applied and got accepted last week, but you’re going to wait to tell him. Can’t let him spend the day bragging about being right! Even if it was a massive relief to get the job.

One of Dirk’s slim, pointed eyebrows is steadily rising over the rim of his shades, and you know you’ve been caught.

“Okaaaaay,” you relent. “I’m ditching. But this is important! It’s our six month anniversary!”

“Oh. Uh, I didn’t think we were—” Dirk says, his voice mumbled and rushed as the gears in his head start whirling.

You step forward and catch his head between your hands, stopping that nonsense dead in its tracks. “We weren’t! I just decided to!”

“Oh,” he says again, sounding a bit relieved.

You love that you can tell that now. You adore how easy it is to read him, despite the unflappable exterior he puts up. He’s gotten so much better since you first met him, though he still has those moments where he looks lost out to sea and you worry, worry that you can’t pull him back.

“I think we should celebrate,” you add, knowing that your eagerness is already transparent on your face.

“Celebrate,” he echoes, slowly catching on.

“Yes,” you nod seriously. “We have all afternoon! What do you say?”

“You’re acting like I have a choice here,” he says dryly.

“’Atta boy!”

He makes another huffy noise under his breath, but doesn’t offer a rebuttal. You can tell he’s on board though. His shoulders don’t have tension in them, and the warm breath against your palms is even and steady. Gosh, he’s so good.

You drop your hands and he looks a little disappointed by that. It makes you giggle, and he crosses his arms tightly in front of himself.

“Don’t do that,” you tease, pulling him close and giving him your biggest smile.

“Don’t do what,” Dirk deadpans back at you, but drops his arms.

You feel his hands tentatively rest on your hips, and it makes you so happy because it took forever for him to take any sort of initiative like that. You’re so proud of him, he’s so lovely, and you really want to drill it into him until he understands it.

You press your hands flat on his back, running them slowly up and down his shirt, worn and soft with age. He’s so lean, all sharp angles and tight musculature. It’s mesmerizing. Your fingers find the definition of his back and trace it, slipping down his spine, sweeping through his lower back, and gliding back up.

Dirk is quiet in your arms, gently squeezing your hips like he forgot his hands were there. He probably did.

It’s so easy to unravel him now, pluck a few strings and he’s yours to play with.

It’s your favorite thing, despite how nervous he gets about you getting bored of him.

So you just have to remind him!

“Chickpea,” you call, and you can see him focusing on your face through his shades. “Want to head to your room?”

You’ve been experimenting with offering him choices, just to get him to tell you what he wants for once. It’s been one hell of a challenge.

Like now, Dirk just shrugs and mumbles something about whatever you want to do.

“I want to do you,” you say cheekily, enjoying the color that rises on his cheeks.

“Classy,” Dirk says, like he doesn’t thrive off being wanted.

“I could always just have you here,” you add brightly. “You wouldn’t mind being bent over a table, would you?”

You watch the color in his face darken. You know he wouldn’t mind, probably would prefer it, but you also know he’s exceptionally neurotic about doing anything in the common area of his apartment.

“Bedroom,” he finally relents.

“Good,” you say, pleased, and drop your hands to his ass for an encouraging squeeze.

You follow Dirk to his bedroom, watching him studiously not look at you like you’re his date on prom night and not the person he’s been screwing for over a year. He’s so silly, you love it.

You start slow, kicking off your shoes and flopping back onto his bed like you own it. He’s giving you a funny look, and you grin and make grabby hands at him.

“You’re such a child,” he grumbles, but takes off his shades and sets them down before climbing after you.

You wait until he’s hovering over you before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him down onto you. He huffs in surprise, or annoyance, and you giggle and kiss him.

Dirk relaxes into you, propping himself up with one forearm by your head as he kisses you easily. He’s so sweet and gentle, and you don’t even think he’s aware of it.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently at the base of his scalp to coax those delicious little noises from his mouth.

Sure enough, Dirk gasps into your kiss, and it sends heat radiating through your body.

You do it again, alternating between playful little tugs and rubbing his head with your fingertips.

Dirk presses down into you, your kiss growing a bit more heated. He shifts so he’s seated on your thighs, legs folded on either side of you and mouth insistent against yours.

You can feel him curling and uncurling his hands into the sheets by you, wanting to touch but not knowing if he can. You nip his lower lip and suck it into your mouth briefly, then releasing it and smirking up at him.

“Your glasses are still on,” he says, voice a little ragged.

“Fix it.”

He blinks, and then carefully takes them off. He folds them and sets them down next to his, and the sight of both your glasses resting together on the bedside table makes you smile.

“Good job, pumpkin. Now come back here.”

Dirk returns instantly, amber eyes flickering from your eyes to your mouth and back.

He’s so lovely when he doesn’t know how to ask for things. It’s different from his forced indifference, feigning disinterest only to be dragged kicking and screaming to something he desperately wants but doesn’t know how to ask for.

Now he’s soft, compliant, not filling the space between you with endless bullshit and denial.

You grin up at him and run your hands up his thighs, thumbs digging in to his hips. You have this delightful, tingly feeling in your chest and you want to share it with him. You roll him over easily, switching positions so you’re now sitting on his hips. You pull your shirt off, making sure to stretch your arms a little higher than necessary. It gets tossed to the floor and you find Dirk’s eyes fixated on your chest.

Thin, cool hands come up and run over your bare skin. He touches you like he’s never seen you before, biting his lower lip absently as his fingers rub over your nipples.

“Did I say you could do that?” you reprimand gently, unable to keep the brightness out of your voice.

Dirk freezes, his eyes hazing over slightly. He drops his hands and shakes his head. “No.”

“What do you need to do if you want something?”

He looks away, worrying his lip between his teeth and mumbling something.

“What was that?”

“I have to ask.”

“That’s right, pumpkin. Try it.”

Maybe you’re pushing a little too early, but Dirk takes a breath and closes his eyes.

“Can I touch you?”

God dammit you’re so proud of him.

“Yes,” you breathe, elated. “Yes you can, you’ve earned it.”

“Haven’t done anything,” Dirk mumbles, but resumes running his hands over you. There’s more confidence in his touch now that he has express permission, and you hum as he drags his nails down your back.

You kiss him, pushing your tongue in his mouth and rocking your hips down. You feel him grip your shoulders and you grind down more insistently.

Dirk shifts under you and sighs into your mouth, angling his hips up to meet yours.

You part from him to remove his shirt, then move your attention to his neck. Now that he doesn’t have to wear scarves all the time, you’re far more liberal with your marking.

“Oh, fuck,” Dirk groans as you suck a bruise into his neck, sliding his arms around your shoulders to hold you there.

You lavish attention on his neck and shoulders, peppering him with kisses and nips until you’re certain he’ll be covered in pretty little marks by tomorrow. He’s squirming under you, fingers tangled in your hair and breathing ragged.

You dig your nails into his hips and press your hardening cock against his, and he shudders under you.

“Dirk,” you murmur playfully into his neck, kissing just below his jaw.

“Mnnh?”

“Clementine,” you purr, and his breathing catches in his throat. “Go get your bag.”

Dirk goes rigid for a second, and then he’s scrambling out from under you and bending over the side of the bed, fishing around for his stash.

You admire the view, and then decide you can do a bit more than just admire. So you shuffle over and put your hands on his ass, squeezing and rubbing it.

“Dammit, John,” Dirk complains halfheartedly, though he doesn’t make an effort to move away. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh don’t mind me, chickpea,” you say, and then smack his ass.

“Fuck!” Dirk jerks forwards and almost slides off the bed. His hand digs into the covers and the other one comes back up to find purchase.

“Bag, Dirk,” you remind him, then spank him again.

He whines, repositions himself a bit so he won’t fall of the bed, and then leans back down to get it.

You slip your hands around to the front of his jeans and unbutton them, smirking to yourself. You see him finally locate the bag, but you can’t have it be that easy.

You pull Dirk’s jeans down to just under his ass and smack him again, hard, and he gasps.

“You look so nice like this,” you comment, running your hand over the place you just struck.

He flinches, like the compliment hurt worse than the strike, though he still doesn’t move away. He’s got one hand on the strap of his bag and seems to have forgotten that he’s supposed to be bringing it to you.

You hit him again, sharp little strikes over his boxers in rapid succession.

“God, fuck, mnghh,” Dirk moans, his face pressed into the covers and shoulders pulled in. “John, come on…”

“Come on, what? You’re supposed to be doing something,” you respond.

Dirk reacts to that, and he pulls the bag up and deposits it next to him then fidgets as you start to look through it.

“Pants off,” you say as you rummage, and he does as you ask. Man, you love this bag. You remember when he told you about it, how it had been like going through a treasure chest. Some of this stuff you have, or variations of it, but other things were new. He’d been steadily adding to it as well, and you smirk when you see a new glass wand.

You bypass it for now, selecting instead a small vibrator and a cock ring.

You turn to see Dirk watching you avidly, dressed only in his boxers and eyeing the toys you picked.

“See something you like?”

“Maybe,” he says, a bit of his old defiance creeping back in.

You grin and set the bag back on the floor, crawling up to him. He reaches for you first, drawing you up into his lap and kissing you. You let the toys drop beside you two and kiss him hungrily.

Hands move with increasing urgency, and he’s making the sweetest little noises as your hand moves between the two of you and brushes against his cock.

“You’re so hard for me,” you mumble against his lips, and he shudders.

Dirk’s hands don’t seem to know where to land, so you catch them and press them behind his back, locking his wrists together with one hand. Your other hand returns between his legs and Dirk’s head falls back, a groan tearing out of his throat.

“That’s it, sweetpea,” you encourage, and he moans for you weakly.

“You’re so easy to unravel,” you continue, forcing him on his back and making sure his hands stay pinned under his own weight. “You’re so good, so well behaved. I’m going to give you a choice now, alright?”

Dirk stares at you, and you smile and tap the fingers of your unoccupied hand against his lips. He parts them for you, and you slip them into his mouth.

“Option one,” you say as you slide them against the sticky, wet heat of his mouth, “is I fuck you now with the vibrator, then let you finish before fucking you with my cock.”

Dirk jerks a little, a choked noise tumbling from his lips.

You push your fingers in deeper and he runs his tongue along them like they’re your dick. It’s making it very hard to think, and you’re getting uncomfortably hard.

“Option two,” you practically growl, “is I fuck you with the vibrator, put that ring around your pretty dick, and then ride you until I’m satisfied.”

The noise Dirk makes at that is so delicious that it makes your nerves sing.

“Oh, you like option two?”

Dirk’s eyes are wide and pleading, and you know that your hand on his cock isn’t helping him think either. When he tries to answer, you shove your fingers deeper and he chokes, arching up into your hand and tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. You relent, pulling your fingers back, and he chases them with his tongue.

“God, look at you, you’re so pretty like this,” you croon, squeezing his dick through his boxers.

You take your hands away and Dirk starts mumbling, asking for you to come back, please please, he wants you back.

“I’m right here, honeydew,” you sooth, petting his hair with your clean hand. “Just a second.”

You pull off the rest of your clothes and Dirk’s boxers, then resettle beside him. You pick up a bottle of lube on the bedside table and wiggle it at him.

Dirk takes the hint and reaches for it, coating his fingers and then slipping his hand between his legs. His eyes flutter closed and he breathes out in relief as he works a finger inside of himself.

You lay out next to him, petting his hair and pressing your lips along his jaw. “That’s it, clementine, you’re so good, how does it feel?”

“Not as good as you do,” Dirk says breathlessly, and you groan into his neck.

“You’re so perfect like this, you look amazing,” you’re practically babbling, watching in rapture as Dirk’s back bends off the bed and he moans loudly at your words.

“John” he pants, opening his eyes and finding yours. “Can I add another—?”

“Yes,” you hiss, and devour the sight of his mouth falling open as he pushes another finger in.

The muscles of his arm jump and tense as he fucks himself on his fingers. Short, high pitched noises issuing from him heedlessly.

You stop him when it gets to be too much for you, and he’s shaking as he pulls his fingers out and you slick up the vibrator.

It slides in easily, and Dirk’s eyes roll back in his head when you turn it on.

“ _Oh!_ Oh, _fuck_ , John,” Dirk cries out, and you kiss him hard as you slip the cock ring on him. He startles when he hears the lube bottle opening again, and turns to see you coat your own fingers in it.

“Watch,” you command firmly, and Dirk whines.

You position yourself so he can see, and you can watch him shake and writhe from the vibrator. You let your legs fall open and circle a finger around your entrance, keeping eye contact as you slide it in.

“Mnh,” you gasp at the slight burn. It’s been a while since you last did this, but god Dirk’s watching you with awe on his face and it’s better than anything. You slowly work yourself open, moans and senseless words falling from your mouth as the burn becomes white hot pleasure.

“John,” Dirk begs, voice shaking. “John, fuck, you’re…”

“Dirk,” you call, pressing your fingers against your prostate.

“John, _please_ ,” Dirk tries again, face flushed and pupils blown wide.

That snaps your composure, and you take your fingers away and climb on top of him.

Dirk pulls his arms free and hovers them over your hips as you line up with his cock. “Can I touch you? Please let me touch you. Fuck, John, please.”

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, yes, fuck, _Dirk—!”_

His hands grip your hips as you lower onto him, and you throw your head back and moan mindlessly. It feels incredible, everything is hot and bright and perfect as you settle down on him.

Dirk looks ravaged, pleas flowing endlessly that it’s too much, not enough, _please let me fuck you god dammit please it feels so good._

“You’ll be good and let me use you how I want,” you gasp, and Dirk cries out as you start to move. You let him move under you, pushing up as you press down, and you’re both calling for each other despite being inches away.

Dirk’s hands on your hips guide you, jerky and demanding, and you tell him how amazing he feels in you until he begs you to stop.

“So good,” you choke out, and Dirk snaps his hips up into you helplessly. “That’s it, oh god, fuck, good, so good, you feel amazing, Clementine—!”

One of Dirk’s hands flies to your cock, stroking it in time with your movements. It feels like fire, and you rake your nails down his chest and watch him struggle not to fall apart. You’re getting so close, and seeing Dirk begging for relief is too overwhelming in the best way.

You come suddenly and hard, something snapping in you and you cry out, clenching down and shuddering through your climax. It feels electric, and you’re gasping for air as you gently lift yourself off Dirk.

“John,” Dirk pleads, voice cracking. “John please, fuck, it’s too much, please let me finish, god, fuck, _John_!”

You moan as you work the cock ring off him, dropping your hand between his legs to turn up the vibrator.

Dirk’s head snaps back and he screams, body seizing up as he finishes, hands clawing at the covers. You kiss him, over and over as he sobs and writhes, turning down the vibrator and carefully working it out of him.

He lays there, wrung out and gasping in some faraway place as you start cleaning up. The toys get a quick rinse, you get a washcloth and clean the two of you up, and then wobble back to bed because your legs feel pretty boneless right now.

Dirk is still drifting as you settle in, pulling him into your arms and burying your face in his hair. You feel surrounded by a feeling that’s too tender to name, and you’re hesitant to say it. But you know Dirk feels it, you can hear it in the way he says your name, or how he clings to you afterwards.

Sure enough, arms lazily snake their way around you and legs tangle with yours as Dirk tucks himself into you. He’s relaxed, buzzing on endorphins, and you’d swear he’d be purring if he could.

You rub his back and whisper to him, telling him how perfect he was, how good he is, how much you enjoyed that.

It’s one of the few times he’s doesn’t act like your words burn him.

Instead Dirk smiles, lethargic and slow, and tries to press closer.

“Happy six months,” he mumbles, words almost slurring, and you hug him tightly.

“Happy six months, you lovely mess.”

He laughs silently, too tired to make any real noise, and you grin into his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks.
> 
> I can't believe that one-shot turned into this monster. Thank you all for sticking around and reading!
> 
> As always, I love love love getting your comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very self-indulgent fic I wrote because there is not enough Dirk/John in the world.  
> I also god damn love using food names as pet names.  
> Let me know what ya'll think, I love hearing from you :)
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: After some deliberation I realized I want to write more of this tomfoolery. Brace yourself for upcoming shenanigans and shoutout to a reader asking for more and legit making me consider giving them more


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